


And Baby Makes Three

by Quiet_Shadow



Series: Project Regen Files [3]
Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, M/M, Mech Preg, Mpreg, Sparklings, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Teen Pregnancy, Teenage Parents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-03 07:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2842838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quiet_Shadow/pseuds/Quiet_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Decepticons took over Cybertron. The Autobots had more or less resigned themselves to be enslaved or executed. They weren’t prepared, however, for the Decepticons to make them all go through frame regression and turn most of the population into Sparklings and Younglings.</p>
<p>But even for those who remains in Youngling frames, the situation is hard to deal with. And sometimes, you have to deal with unexpected consequences, as Perceptor and Wheeljack are about to learn...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> And here comes the 'third' tale of the Project Regen Files, this time centered on Perceptor and Wheeljack.  
> I hope you will enjoy it. <3

“Thank you to have come so fast, Sir,” the grunt said affably as he walked next to Knock Out, who just shrugged in boredom. As if he had a choice! He watched around him in distaste as he was lead through the numerous corridors of Trypticon Prison. Really, the place was just as dreadful as it had been millions of stellar cycles ago, when it had finally fallen into Autobots hands! Knock Out had never liked this place, so he hadn’t cared much for the loss -- besides, losing the war and getting exiled from the whole of Cybertron had been much more attention-worthy than the loss of a single stronghold.

Still, like many of his fellow Decepticons, Knock Out had been outraged upon learning the Autobots had turned the place into a high-security prison for their prisoners of war, i.e. all Decepticons they had managed to capture during the course of the war and hadn’t ransomed or exchanged, and the ones they had caught ‘spying’ afterward. Really, the bolts of those mechs! But, Knock Out mused with a small smirk, things had changed now. The Decepticons were back in power, and had retaken Trypticon. Still, they liked irony, and what had once been the Autobots most secured prison remained so… though with different inmates.

They needed a place to cram all the Autobots higher-ups they found were guilty of grievous war crimes, as well as the few ‘Autobot criminals’, after all -- those civilians convicted of murders and thievery whose files needed to be reviewed by Decepticons authorities before their final fate was decided. There were also, in two blocs, some more civilians, perfectly innocents of wrong-doings, but that had had to be send somewhere. Most of the ones convicted of minor crimes, and all the ‘innocents’, had undergone Project Regen already, as per instruction. The youngest civilians were already gone, most of them adopted right away. Remained the older ones, those who had reached mid-to-late Younglinghood and as such, were less likely to get adopted -- and less likely to listen and be correctly reeducated by a ‘loving family’.

Knock Out already knew most of them would be send in special holding centers and ‘private schools’, where they’d remain until they were able to be trusted. Simple and clear. The difficulty, however, was to decide if the ones who had been convicted by Autobots courts could get in the normal adoption system or if they had to be shuffled like their fellow ‘Autobot-Younglings’ to a lighter, quieter holding center to be ‘reeducated’ while remaining ‘Wards of the State’, under the jurisdiction of the proper authorities.

The red medic wasn’t privy to the details, but as far as he knew, it was causing no small amount of processor aches for the jurists reviewing each cases, and last he had heard, it had been decided personal interviews from each captives with ‘professionals’ would be included in their files to help the ones in charge take their decision. It was slow going, though, for a lot of Decepticon shrinks had prior obligations to fill and couldn’t necessarily clear their schedule to help the courts. As for the Autobots ones… well, most of those were back in the Academy to relearn quite a few things about anatomy, treatment and psychological care… when they weren’t receiving it in turn.

Knock Out would known; once by decacycle, he held a class at Protyhex Medical Academy, teaching a class of half-traumatized, half-eager to learn, of (former) Autobots from medical and scientific Corps. Plus a few Decepticons students who were also taking his course, of course -- they didn’t just try and get Autobots back in shape, after all. They were also forming their own offsprings to follow in their glorious footsteps.

Anyway, they were hit by a shortage of medics, and a shortage of psychiatrists and therapists among them. Someone very brave or very stupid had suggested they’d use the mechs and femmes from the ‘TaC’ section of the Intelligence Division, but the idea had been immediately vetoed by some of the higher ups, including Lord Megatron.

One didn’t just use member of the Torture and Interrogation department to see if a ‘bot was sound of mind and reliable, after all.

Bah. It was just a minor setback. Prisoners would be sorted or tried eventually. It’d just take more time than their initial drafts had imagined.

Knock Out tried not to smirk as they passed rows after rows of high-security cells, each one holding a high-ranked captive, from a minor member of the Autobot High Council who had given harsh orders during the war, to a fanatical warrior who had several times executed downed Decepticons rather than taking them captives, as he should have, arguing the only good Decepticon was a dead Decepticon. Well, this one was unlikely to ever get out, and practically certain to get capital punishment; they didn’t want someone like that loose, ever.

But Knock Out wasn’t here for these ‘bots, no. As they progressed in the higher levels of Trypticon, his escort was mumbling and babbling.

“Really, I don’t think I can thank you enough to have come so fast, Sir. I know just much responsibility you have, especially with all the young ones,” he droned. “But Phlegm wasn’t on duty in the infirmary today, and it isn’t his speciality either. I tried to get a hold of Hook, but I was told he couldn’t make the trip -- and I think he could have, but he wasn’t in the mood to indulge. I thought about Scalpel for a moment, but…” he shrugged. “He’s not someone you want to let loose near young mechs, isn’t he? Then I tried Glit, because I thought he’d glad to help, and indeed he was very nice when I managed to comm him and pass over my worries, but he directed me toward you, arguing that he couldn’t perform the exams, even if he wanted, as he lacked… fingers…” he trailed off as he realized Knock Out wasn’t really listening to him, and was even bothered by the flow of words.

It was galling to learn he hadn’t been the first choice of that bumbling idiot. That he’d be second behind the Trypticon-assigned medic, he could deal with it; it was normal. Phlegm wasn’t that good of a medic in Knock Out’s opinion, but he took his job seriously at least, and knew when to call someone more experienced. But that they had thought to call Hook before him? Ah! As if the ‘glorious surgeon’ would ever lower himself to go on call in the Prisons! His ego would never allow it! Really, it was making him seeth. At the same time, he wasn’t so bothered to hear they had dismissed Scalpel immediately -- served the little maniac right! He was one scary bugger, Knock Out had to admit, and the red mech often wondered how the diminutive mech had ever earned the title of doctor. As for Glit… well, Knock Out grudgingly see why they had thought of Glit before him. Glit was compassionate, and a decent practitioner, someone who never turned down people in need and who inspired trust easily enough. If they needed someone to treat a younger patient, then Glit wasn’t a bad choice at all.

As such, it was a wonder the jaguar-like medic had turned them down and told them to see Knock Out.

Then again… Glit wasn’t ‘equipped’ to give valve exams, was he?

At the thought, Knock Out’s optics narrowed in displeasure, and he looked sharply at the bumbling mech next to him. “So, you’re sure?” he asked. The mech gulped. “Well…?” he trailed off, realizing he hadn’t caught the mech’s name -- he probably heard it, mind you, but he hadn’t deemed it important enough to remember.

“Vigil, Sir. And… I feel pretty certain, Sir,” he answered carefully. “I’m not an expert like you and the mechs from Medical, but I have a brother who had a Sparkling, and I kinda recognized some of the signs: general tiredness, longer recharge cycles, what seems to be an increased consumption of energon,...” he started to list.

Knock Out nodded and waved. “It could also simply be the signs of a bout of depression,” he argued back. If that was the only ‘proof’ that mook had, then he had made a mountain out of a metallo-mole’s hill. Tss. The medic would hate to have been disturbed over nothing. Granted, it was most likely the case, so he didn’t bother hiding his scepticism over the matter at hand.

“That’s what Phlegm told me when I reported the problem, Sir,” Vigil admitted sheepishly, shuffling. “But I don’t think it’s the case. Sir. That ‘bot… he isn’t the kind to get depressed. Sure, his emotional relays and subroutines are very messed up, and he has mood swings because of it, and sometimes he acts weird, but he never showed any emotion having anything to do with depression. I’m certain it isn’t depression,” he affirmed with force.

“So you affirm he is Sparked, then?” Knock Out asked dryly. “Here in the prison, I fail to see how it could have happened. Care to explain to me? And don’t say it’s a guard. I know for a fact every guard here was selected with the most rigorous criteria, in order to have reliable mechs and femmes on duties who DON’T have any thought of abusing their positions… and less so abuse it on Younglings. So, what’s your hypothesis… Vigil?”

“I suspect the Sire isn’t a guard, Sir. Rather, I think it’s highly probable it’s another Youngling,” the mech tried to say, only to be cut out.

“Another Youngling? Really? And how two mechs who are supposed to stay alone in their respective cells would have managed that, I wonder? Did they have a quickie in front of everyone in the mess hall? Or in the showers? Oh, I forgot, the mech you suspect to be sparked up isn’t supposed to leave his cell at all! My, this must be inconvenient for your hypothesis!”

“Uh, Sir?” Vigil squirmed uneasily. “Prisoner AP-0999 isn’t a high security prisoner.” Knock Out stilled utterly and the guard continued. “After Project Regen was applied and the neurosurgeons tried to make his emotional subroutines kick in, he was reassigned as a medium-level threat and reassigned to medium-level security quarters… with access to a common room… and the possibility to have visitors… or go visit another prisoner’s cell… since they’re all Younglings and the surgeons who did the interventions and the psys assigned to his case recommended he was mentally stimulated and had regular interactions in order to socialize and have his emotional center and subroutines reaffirm themselves correctly…”

Knock Out stayed utterly still for a moment. Then he shuttered his optics and started to breath in and out deeply as he slowly counted to ten hics. “Are you telling me,” he said in a low voice, “that they allowed the mech responsible for Project Omega, among other unsavory things the Autobots unleashed on us… a mech who we consider to be accountable for several war crimes… is allowed to go as he please inside Trypticon?! Do you people have any idea of what Perceptor is really able to do when he put his mind to it?” he almost snarled.

Almost.

Vigil took a step back and gulped. “It isn’t like that, Sir! He can’t just go anywhere he pleases; he’s confined to block D-17, and anyway, he almost never leaves his cell. We… we have our orders, Sir,” he swallowed dryly. “Higher-ups want to try and have him rehabilitated, on the ground his CPU could still be of good use to the Decepticons, Sir And, well… he’s a Youngling, Sir,” he added weakly. “It’s just fell unusually cruel to have him cut off from everything when he’s confused and afraid… well, probably confused and afraid, it’s a bit hard to say with the lack of reliable emotions...”

Knock Out didn’t bother asking what the Pit they were thinking. He didn’t need to. Not when one knew Perceptor had been the mind behind the Space Bridges, or the mind behind the new, more effective alt-mods scans. Autobot criminal or not, Perceptor was a genius, and of course Megatron wasn’t going to let such genius rot and rust in a cell when it could be applied to help the Decepticon to consolidate and expand their Empire.

Also… well, they were right. One couldn’t just put a… a ‘handicapped Youngling’ in solitary confinement. Yes, handicapped; what else should he consider Perceptor, after all? The mech had voluntarily deleted his personality and emotional subroutines! As such, he was now socially inept and unable to fully integrate in society, possibly a danger to himself and others due to a profound lack of empathy and understanding of how a normal mech was supposed to work. There were rumors there had been… ‘accidents’ in the past, in the labs, rumors nobody had managed to silence, despite Intelligence’s best work. Then again, Shockwave had had little interest in perfectly silencing truths and half-truths.

Anyway, medics worth their salt knew how important keeping even basic emotional codes was. Interrogators themselves didn’t get rid of them! Turn them off, maybe, but not entirely erase them. To do so was just… Knock Out couldn’t say he was pitying Perceptor, but it was hard to not feel something for a ‘bot who had basically mutilated himself, and probably out of sheer ignorance. Protoformed mechs just never seemed to grasp how important all of their parts were, until taught better.

Perceptor should never have been allowed to go through such a process, not even for the ‘benefits’ of having more ‘room for science’ and faster mental abilities. As such, it really galled on most of the medical Decepticon Corps that their Autobot counterparts had never done anything to repair the damages themselves in solitary until his eventual trial. Autobots… what a bunch of idiots! Of course, they didn’t know any better, but still… As it was, it was a couple of Decepticons neurosurgeons who had petitioned Megatron to try and operate on Perceptor, arguing that letting someone, especially a Youngling in such a ‘fragile mental state’ was too disturbing for them on an ethical level. They had managed to get permission at long last, and now…

Well, from the reports Knock Out had read, courtesy of the psych overseeing him, who readily shared observations on his patients developments so long it didn’t intrude on said patients’ lives, one couldn’t call Perceptor normal still. Sure, those who had operated him had managed to reinstall new personality matrices, which in turn had kicked in emotional subroutines, meaning Perceptor was now able to actually feel emotions such as joy, sadness or excitement. But these subroutines weren’t ‘set in stone’, so to speak. They struggled to be correctly integrated by the Autobot scientist’s body, and were subject to frequent deletes, installments and reboots, as Perceptor’s CPU didn’t fully recognize them or considered them as some kind of virus and fought them down.

The result, so far, was a mech who was able to show and understand emotions and who, as such, was a bundle of misery, or the cold, emotionless-drone he usually was. It was far from perfect, but it was a start, and hopefully, it’d get better in time. The general consensus among professional was that Perceptor might never regain a fully working personality and emotional matrix, but he would at least be able to live off without sounding and acting like an overly intelligent drone. Of course, for it to work, the mech would need to be regularly stimulated in a number of manners in order to learn to recognize his emotions and how they applied once more.

Yeah. Grudgingly, Knock Out could see the point in having Perceptor try to ‘socialize’ with his fellows; they needed to have him ‘repaired’, after all. To let a Youngling in such as state was just plain cruel, especially since their goal on the long term was to try and have all the Autobots they could become perfectly integrated in society. Perceptor included.

Still, they should have him watched better! Who knew what kind of wicked, nefarious plot could be brewing under that helm?

… Perhaps he was slightly exaggerating, Knock Out allowed. It wasn’t like Perceptor could cause much troubles where he was and in his current state. Getting in trouble, now, that was another barrel of bolts.

And if Vigil was right… well, ‘trouble’ was a light word.

“How high is the probability he was Sparked up by another Youngling? After all, it’s not like all of them have working interface components,” the red mech tried to rationalize. “Actually, are Perceptor’s own components in working order? He’s about what, 9,000 vorns? Most Younglings only start to get… bothered around 10,000…”

“Well, Sir, when you’re walk in on two youngsters happily going at it, you don’t wonder for long if their components are working or not, because the answer is very obviously ‘yes’,” Vigil said, cheeks slightly flushed. “To be honest, Sir, I’m not sure they knew what they were doing exactly,” he shuffled uneasily. “But they were doing it alright, and without a care.” Knock Out had to resist the urge to facepalm. Oh yeah, he was really going to have to check Perceptor thoroughly.

And cross his fingers and pray that he wasn’t really going to deal with a Carrying Youngling


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knock Out and Perceptor meets...

Trypticon’s Infirmary wasn’t very impressive. Oh, it was adequately furnished alright, but the medical material was certainly of a lower quality than what Knock Out liked to work with. It was also so… drab and depressing. Granted, it was a prison; it wasn’t as if the Autobot High Council would waste credits for top-of-the-line equipment, and the Decepticons were busy with more pressing matters to care. Although, Knock Out noted, his faction was probably responsible for the addition of a Youngling-sized medical berth, Youngling-adapted pre-made doses of various medical fluids, and the stirrups at the end of each berth.

Autobots at large had had no clue about what laid between their legs, so this was obviously a new addition. And addition he was going to have to use, he thought as he cleaned up his hands carefully.

The door opened with a ‘beep’ and a flashing white light, and the red medic turned his head to see his new patient enter. There he was, a guard on each side, walking quietly and silently, looking a bit sullen as his bound hands shook a little -- standard, normal cuffs, not stasis ones, Knock Out noticed. That was good; stasis cuffs were dangerous for Sparklings and Younglings, what’s with the energy discharge being able to fry circuitries if someone fought against the cuffs’ hold.

The medic tilted his head to the side as the trio proceeded further into the Medbay. So, this was Perceptor? Funny. He had thought the mechling would look more… impressive. After all, given how they had had their collective afts kicked by his genius and the combined talents of the workers following his orders, Knock Out had thought he’d play the part of looking like a badass mech, even if he was now supposed to be a Youngling.

Well, so much for that.

Perceptor was a small, delicate looking thing -- not unlike most of his fellow Autobot Younglings. Size-wise, he was barely reaching Knock Out’s chest -- and Knock Out himself wasn’t very big for a Decepticon, having some mixed ancestry way back in his construction line. His red, grey and light blue paint was a bit dull -- the kid could benefit from a good washing, waxing and polishing, in the doc’s opinion. Small, narrowed blue optics were peering at him from behind oversized visor-glasses, and Knock Out paused. Were those things still adapted to him?

Mechs and femmes wearing visor-glasses rarely did so out of fashion -- though it had been quite trendy a few stellar cycles back and still was in some circles. No, 9/10 times, those who wore them usually had optics-related troubles, of the kind that were so ingrained in software and core programming that no surgical operation or optic changes could ever correct it. Vision troubles were various. It could be general blurry vision, or CPU aches when trying to focus on some details, inability to see past a certain distance, extreme sensibility to light requiring additional optical protection,…

Perceptor’s file didn’t mention which one he was suffering from. Knock Out would probably need to address the issue as well while he was giving a general exam. Wonderful. Still, he schooled his features into something vaguely reassuring and looked down at the small Autobot scientist.

“Why, hello there. Perceptor, right? I’ve heard a lot of things about you. See, one guard was getting rather worried about you, and he insisted you needed to be checked by a qualified medic right away,” he said lightly. The Youngling looked at him with the same sullen, suspicious expression as before. “Now, perhaps he was exaggerating, but he thought he noticed you acting weirdly…. or at least, he thought he saw you acting out of character. I won’t bother you with all the details, but he seems to think you aren’t refueling enough, and that your recharge time had increased visibly. Now, as I said, perhaps he was mistaken or blowing things out of proportion, but I’m curious. Do you confirm this?”

Little blue optics seemed to narrow even more, and he turned his head away, staying silent. Knock Out was ready to sigh and throw his arms into the air, muttering about uncooperative would be patients, when the Youngling finally spoke. His voice was… a bit weird, Knock Out decided. Lacking in harmonics and very bland, probably a side effect from his missing personality matrices; apparently, trying to reinstall them hadn’t do much wonder for the vocalizer yet.

“... My recharge time has increased by 30%. However, despite said increase in recharge, I seem to spend most of my online time in a state of extreme tiredness and/or agitation. Recharge patterns themselves seem to be deviating, though I can’t yet fathom how or why. My energy levels…” he paused briefly. “My energy level seems to have dropped significantly and at a steady rate, despite my recharge time making me use less raw power and despite my attempts at making that energy level increase or at least stay steady.”

“Attempts such as?” Knock Out interjected quickly, optics narrowed. What had the mech done?

“Regular refueling, for one,” the bland answer came. “I seem to be quite forgetful of refueling on a regular basis. However, since noticing the drop, and with some help as well as an acute observance of my own chronometer, I have made an effort to refuel every solar cycles -- thrice, as per the schedule given to us,” he indicated. “As well, my esteemed colleague and friend Wheeljack has tried to give me part of his own rations in order to try and boost my own energy jauge.”

“That’s very reckless on his part,” Knock Out indicated immediately. “Of course, he can use his own fuel allotment as he sees fit, but he also has energetic needs of his own and should be more aware of them. Have you not tried to ask the guards for more fuel?” he asked, wondering why they had forsaken such a simple solution.

“The probabilities we would see any of our demands answered favorably by the authorities in charge of the prison was estimated to be less than 28.471%. With so little chances of success, we decided against this course of action.”

Knock Out wanted to facepalm. The two guards still at Perceptor’s sides shuffled uneasily. “Let me guess. You based your calculations on previous informations and patterns coming from exchanged, ADULT prisoners during the Great War, didn’t you?” There was a small nod in turn, and Perceptor’s helm tilted to the side, obviously curious to the purpose of Knock Out’s question and wondering where he had been mistaken in his assumptions. Knock Out took a deep breath. “Look, kid, you shouldn’t use obsolete datas. Because you did -- you can’t compare your present situation with something as old as several millions of stellar cycles. In the middle of a conflict, one just can’t afford to waste fuel -- rationing the prisoners is a necessity.”

“Then I don’t see how I was mistaken. I am a prisoner, after all.”

“Ah, but there is a big difference… or two or three, kid,” Knock Out pointed out. “For one, we won. Which means that we now have access to fuel reserves we didn’t have before. Secondly, you aren’t an adult, but a Youngling -- though I guess the term and the implications are flying high over your head for now. Mainly, it’s mean your energetic needs are different, and we can easily afford to adjust them should we be asked. True, we have make it so every resident of Trypticon is given three cubes a day, on a specific schedule, but it is mainly for commodity sake, as it is easier to have everyone on the same basic diet than to make specific ones for everyone. So, while your point about being a prisoner is valid -- since you are, although some of us wish there was another solution -- you could have just asked, and after checking if you really needed it, then you would have been given what you needed.”

“... oh,” Perceptor muttered. “I’ll try to keep it to mind when working up on further calculations, then.”

“You do that,” Knock Out nodded, trying not to smirk. The very serious Youngling was fun to speak with, he had to admit -- horribly bland tone notwithstanding, of course. And if one ignored what kind of damages a genius could do. He sobered up immediately, though. Perceptor had just confirmed the symptoms Vigil had brought up. Of course, they could mean a lot of things, but…

“Perceptor?” The Youngling looked up at him again. “There is another matter that had been brought up to me recently. Something that concern you, and that I need to have confirmed to establish a diagnosis,” he said carefully. Perceptor continued to look at him blankly. Knock Out eyed the two guards and dismissed them with a gesture. “Please, go stand outside. From now on, I think me and my patient need to be alone. Patient/doctor confidentiality and all that jazz,” he added as he saw them hesitate.

“... We’ll be at the door if you need us, Sir,” one of them finally allowed as they saluted and left -- without removing Perceptor’s cuffs, something that made Knock Out pull a face. Oh, he knew it was protocol, but frankly, did they fear he’d be overpowered by a Youngling without actual combat training -- because Perceptor had none, it was in his file.

“Well, Youngling, I think it’s high time we speak,” the red mech finally said as he gestured for Perceptor to sit down on the edge of the Youngling-sized medical berth. Perceptor did so, with a certain grace at that, his face carefully blank. Did his emotional protocols crash again, or did he just have an excellent poker face. Knock Out coughed. “You see, one guard reported something about you… and one of your fellow Younglings. Nothing bad, of course,” he assured immediately. “You were apparently caught doing something very natural for adult mechs… and older Younglings who are curious or without a lick of common sense when it comes to protection,” he added as an afterthought. “As I said, it is nothing bad. However, I must ask you a few questions and do a few exams in order to determinate if it has a rapport with the… symptoms you told me about.”

Perceptor’s optics flashed briefly even as his too-large visor-glasses slide further away from his face. “I fail to see how Wheeljack putting his plug into my slit -- or the reverse -- has anything to do with increased energon consumption or increased recharge patterns.”

Knock Out blinked and almost facepalmed. Here was the confirmation he had been dreading, sort of. Though he was curious about the way the Youngling called his valve or his ‘partner’s’ spike; where had he heard such words? Surely, he had had a crash course on reproduction and anatomy? All the prisoners here were supposed to get one, just in case; higher ups didn’t want little surprises like the one Perceptor might have inadvertently cooked up, after all. Also, there was a small pang of dread inside his Spark. Hadn’t Perceptor just said he hadn’t just been spiked, but also spiked in turn? Should he check the prisoners for another Carrying Youngling immediately?

“Where did you get such names for your spike and valve?” he asked first, trying to circle around the issue while taking as much informations as he could.

Perceptor blinked. “Spike and valve,” he muttered. “Right. Thank you for giving me the official terms. My fellow Autobots were less than useful in that endeavor,” he stated calmly, back straight even as he let his legs balance. “The little information I managed to get from them were spotty at best, and full of contradicting evidences. Clearly, whatever they learned wasn’t fully retained by their CPU for a reason that escape me…”

“You fellow Autobots? Not an adult Decepticon?” Knock Out asked, feeling his Spark surge painfully. Oh, he didn’t like the sound of that. “Perceptor, you did assist to a lecture on… intercourse, right?” At Perceptor’s blank look, he precised. “You must have followed a… class about spike and valve and how to use them -- or rather, how NOT to use them. And about precautions, and how we could give… contraceptives means to the ones who were old enough and wanted to explore? It was mandatory, and done by group,” Knock Out recalled. He hadn’t handled any of the lectures at Trypticon, -- after all, he was already involved in the ones at the Protyhex Academy -- but he had gotten the schedule the Younglings were supposed to follow, just in case he was forced to step up in someone else’s place.

He quickly accessed the file and opened it, glancing at the content until he reached the right informations. “Given you were held in Bloc DC-84 upon your arrival, you must have gone through it five decacycles ago. Ring any bell?”

The Youngling tilted his head. “None,” he answered frankly. “My memory banks as of five decacycles ago are a bit imprecise, I’m afraid, but not to the point of ignoring a scientific venture -- or anything I could have gotten new knowledges from.”

“Imprecise? How imprecise?” Knock Out immediately asked.

“I assume it has to do with the process which rendered me to this state,” the Youngling said dryly, an optic ridge raised. “I don’t know how long the process lasted, for my chronometer glitched, but I think I remained in Medbay for a moment. It is highly possible that I missed some assembly during my convalescence,” he allowed. “As it is, I was immediately moved to another cell upon my release, this time in Block D-17, and I can swear I have never hear of any ‘lecture’ having to do with the… ‘extra parts’ I noticed under my plating.”

Knock Out’s Spark dropped with dread. Oh, he was starting to see what might have had happened. He quickly glanced at the rest of the schedule, and winced as it confirmed his inner fears. There. Block DC-84 had undergone the ‘safety’ lecture five decacycles ago precisely. The one in Block D-17 had been done two solar cycles later. He accessed Perceptor’s medical file -- which was really lacking in details, he noticed; it only had limited informations, and a bilan done upon Project Regen application. No follow-up or control, which was unusual, but Knock Out supposed that with so many patients to oversee, Phlegm just didn’t have had time to schedule an appointment for a follow-up yet. Which only added to the mess Knock Out was currently facing…

Anyway, he perused through Perceptor’s medical files, and had to sigh loudly. Well, here was the confirmation. Perceptor was taken to the Medbay for the application of Project Regen on the very solar cycle the lecture was to be given to the prisoners. He had stayed there for five solar cycles -- meaning, he had also missed the one in Block D-17 upon being sent here. Probably being overworked, Phlegm hadn’t noticed or probably thought, given the dates, that Perceptor had assisted to the one in Block DC-84, when he in fact had not. Wonderful. Just… wonderful.

That said… if Perceptor had missed the lectures, then where exactly had he picked up the basis of interfacing? According to a census and the general observations of the guards, who were tasked with watching the Younglings for such details -- though obviously they had missed up on Perceptor and whoever he had been interfacing with -- none of the Autobots had expressed an interest for interfacing. Some had timidly asked Phlegm questions, according to the other medic’s notes, but none had apparently taken up to ‘practice’.

Aside of the genius microscope with emotional problems, of course. Speaking of… There was something else that was bothering Knock Out.

“You’re awfully cooperative,” he noted in a rather neutral voice.

Perceptor gave him a look. “I fail to see what I could win by hiding away any symptoms of illness that may plague me. My continued well-functioning is a priority to me, and I have no desire to extinguish due to dishonesty when it comes to medical matters. Although…” he paused before continuing. “Although I calculate few odds of me not being executed at some point, so perhaps I shouldn’t bother.”

“Nobody ever spoke of execution in your case,” Knock Out commented with a small nod of acceptance at the reply.

Perceptor’s smaller helm tilted. “Is that so? How… curious. I would have thought Megatron would have jumped at the chance to get rid of me, as he did with several of my estimate colleagues in the High Council. It is no secret no one on the Decepticon side ever held any love for me. Unless you expect me to cooperate with you and continue my researches under your supervision?”

“Those are details I am not allowed to disclose,” Knock Out answered simply -- and frankly, he had no idea. Perceptor might be spot on on what they wanted, but the medic didn’t know just what sort of deal they were expecting to cut out with the Youngling. Or when. He coughed. “I’m here to check your health and report my finding to the proper authorities. Now, I’m glad you’re honest with me… but I have the feeling you haven’t told me everything you know.”

“I fail to see what I have no mentioned yet. My symptoms are quite clear, and I haven’t hidden anything about them…” the microscope started to say, only for the medic to cut him off.

“No, this isn’t about your symptoms… at least, not directly. As we were saying sooner, you and… Wheeljack, is it? Yes, Wheeljack. Well, the two of you did… something together. Putting your ‘plugs’ into each other, as you put it. Now, I won’t say you have done anything wrong -- it was perfectly natural, though you’re a bit young for that,” he insisted as Perceptor’s lips pursed. “Now, as I tried telling you, what you too have been doing should have been explained to you in details. Seeing you missed the lectures, I can only wonder WHERE exactly you learned about your valve and spike and how to use them. Care to explain?”

“Oh. Well, it started a few solar cycles after being transferred in Block D-17,” Perceptor started, and Knock Out noted his voice held more intonations as he spoke.

*-*-*-*-*

_This new venture was… fascinating. Curious, of course, and also rather inconvenient for he was now forced to really look up at the Decepticons watching them -- though he had done so before anyway, given the Decepticons averaged about 30% more in mass and size than the tallest Autobots -- but Perceptor found it to be fascinating all the same. His blurry sight was also problematic, as reluctant as he was to admit it. Whatever had been done to him had somehow messed with his optical sensors, and his visor-glasses focus lenses didn’t seem to be adapted anymore. Very inconvenient. Though, to be honest, Perceptor had to admit his actual focus power without the visor-glasses had increased by about 15.254%, unless he missed his guess. It wasn’t a lot, but it was certainly noticeable to him._

_Perhaps he should have spoke about it to the medic in charge of Trypticon’s Infirmary… But between trying to familiarize himself with the changes in his body and a steady flow of patients coming to be treated for scratches to nervous breakdown, he hadn’t wanted to mention anything to that medic, Phlegm. Which, Perceptor admitted, was rather stupid of him, as he knew how counterproductive and dangerous hiding things from the medical corps could be. His low vision was a problem, of course, but he was reluctant to let the Decepticons held more power than they already had over him. Then again… what else could he do? The likehood of ever escaping Trypticon were of exactly 1.814%, which basically meant ‘none’._

_Perceptor liked to think of himself as an highly reasonable and pragmatic mech. He knew when to accept defeat and how to determinate the odds in any given situation. Granted, the Decepticons’ reactions and what their ultimate plans for the Autobots were hard to predict or even understand, so it was probably throwing off his calculus, but Perceptor felt reasonably certain he would never leave Trypticon, at least not alive. As such, shouldn’t he try to make the most of what he had, try to act as a model prisoner and report any and all problem he encountered to the guardians?_

_That was what the cold, logical part of his mind wanted to do, and what he would certainly have done before… before his decrease in protoform mass and his sudden shrinking to the size of a Minibot -- and even below: according to a quick calculation, his current frame was about 21.4% smaller than that of a typical Minibot. However, fighting that cold, logical center of activity in his CPU, Perceptor had found himself surprised to find… pride and reluctantness to go along._

_His lips pursed as he walked around -- nobody tried to stop him; the Bloc was sealed from outside contact, and prisoners couldn’t leave. Besides, they were all tagged, and under constant monitoring by the drones. It wasn’t like they could go anywhere. The act of being able to leave their cells and assemble themselves in small groups was comforting, though, and… There is was again. Perceptor’s lips pursed further as he tried to analyze what he felt. It was more contrarying. His Spark often surged in patterns he couldn’t fully predict or comprehend, and he was sometimes subject to… ‘moods’ in which he did things that were totally randoms and very worrisome for the detached, brilliant mind he was. Like that time he has found himself kicking repeatedly in a empty can, with fluid leaking from his optics. Or the time he had just huddled against Wheeljack without understanding why._

_The engineer, bless his Spark, had taken all of Perceptor’s newfound manias in stride and had tried to be comforting, as well as patient as they worked over what was ‘wrong’ with the microscope. Wheeljack, to Perceptor’s surprise, seemed… elated at Perceptor’s behavior, and pointed out that any and everything the scientist did betrayed emotions. The ‘crying’, for example, was the expression of his sadness and rage, as was kicking that can in order to discharge himself from his too potent negative emotion. The huddling -- cuddling, Wheeljack had insisted -- was a show of emotional closeness in which Perceptor had been seeking comfort with a trusted person._

_Now, Perceptor couldn’t disapprove Wheeljack’s opinions and explanations -- they made a lot of sense and were probably the only ones which did -- but it was so… so ludicrous! Perceptor had deleted these emotional basis himself a long time ago, and they had no reason to reappear again. Of course, as the engineer had pointed out, the Decepticons could have reinstalled them, although whatever installment they did was probably faulty. But, Wheeljack insisted, it probably wasn’t their fault; cortical surgery and CPU-related injuries and modifications were complexes matters, and could results in strange results._

_It was very puzzling. Why would their captors and new overlords had done such a thing to Perceptor? Was it an experiment of some sort? If so, the microscope didn’t like to think he may be some sort of lab glitch-mouse. Then again… weren’t they all glitch-mice of some kind, what’s with their new appearance that had reduced most of them to Minibot proportions or smaller?_

_Perceptor glanced at his hands again and tightened them in fists by reflex, watching carefully how his articulations worked. Despite his decrease in size, there seemed nothing fundamentally different about his current frame when he drew parallels with his normal, proper body. Mostly. His reflexes were a bit off, though. His body seemed to react either more slowly or faster than his CPU commanded it to. His steps were sometimes unsteady ot lacking in grace. His systems kept telling him he was fine, but there was definitely things that were not, in the scientist’s mind. He just wished he understood why, or that he was able to make a better detailed study of this phenomenon. He had tried to make a census and create polls from a series of questions he had asked his fellow captives, but most were reluctant to speak with him. Aside of Wheeljack, of course. Wheeljack understood science and the need to know._

_Except, he was also defending the ones who didn’t want to answer or who burst in tears whenever Perceptor tried to brought up the subject of their transformation. What had he said, again? Ah, yes:_

_‘These people are living through a lot, Percy.’ ‘This is trauma speaking, Percy. They need time before they’re ready to speak about… well, anything.’ ‘No, it isn’t a plot against you, Percy.’ ‘Percy, if you were in their place, would you want to talk about it yourself?’_

_Well, yes, he would… At least, he thought so. Sometimes, he wasn’t so sure. That rebellious part of his mind, his new ‘emotional center’, held… mixed feelings, and Perceptor had found himself unable to speak to Wheeljack after that. Instead, he had just huddled against him, letting the other mech rock him in his arms until his internal turmoil receded._

_Perceptor shook his head as he reached a turn -- a gesture he had been unused to until now but that he had started to pick more and more often. Yet another emotional thing, apparently, betraying… he wasn’t sure what. He tried not to sigh; there were opportunities for sciences about their physiological changes, the microscope knew it. There was a whole venture to discover, and so many questions to ask, mainly how the Decepticons had actually done that. And sadly… sadly, Perceptor couldn’t study the phenomenon as he liked, nor be as partial as he would have liked. Emotions were a pain, he decided, and it reminded him why he hadn’t wanted to deal with them anymore in the first place._

_“Hmmmm… ah, yeeesss! Like… like that,” someone panted near by, and Perceptor blinked. What was that? “Ooooh, please, please, pleasepleaseplease! Don’t stop!”_

_The sound was… weird, he decided right away, optics furrowing in thoughts as he remained frozen in his spot. The voice was laced with pleasure -- that much Perceptor could identify. It wasn’t because he wasn’t good at feeling emotions that he didn’t have a basic understanding of what they should and were like in other people. There was also a little pain mixed in -- but then, why did the mech he was hearing begging for the pain to continue? Of course, the pleasured sounds were more prominent in the speech of encouragement, so pain had to be so minimal it didn’t register, but all the same…_

_What Perceptor register secondly, was that whoever was speaking was a Decepticon. The voice was too rough, too low for an Autobot -- especially given that, since they had been shrunk, most Autobot’s vocalizers had changed frequency as well, becoming higher._

_“Ooooh… Dia… DiamondAce,” the voice panted again._

_“Shh, sweetspark,” a second voice answered with amusement. “You wouldn’t want someone to hear you, would you?”_

_A bit late for that, Perceptor thought rather uncharitably, which surprised him. His emotional core must have been more active than he had first thought. At the same time, such words made Perceptor incredibly curious. What were the two Decepticons doing? Had they been involved in something illegal -- though Perceptor couldn’t fathom what. All the same, they seemed to be wary of being heard -- and probably seen -- and they had retired themselves in a little frequented part of the Bloc to do whatever they were doing. It bore investigations, the scientist decided as he crouched down and peered around the turn. He could hear the ‘clang, clang’ of two metals bodies hitting each other further away. He could vaguely make out the shapes of the two Decepticons guards, and even recognize them… sort of. He hadn’t bothered to learn the names of all the guards around, as they changed often, but he could identify them by looks. These two, he recognized easily. What they were doing, however…_

_He went down on his hands and knees and crawled a bit forward, optics narrowed to try and clear his vision somehow as he took refuge behind a couple of crates -- what were they doing there, he wasn’t sure; they probably were full of ‘games’ that’d be distributed to the Block’ occupants later on. The Decepticons did that regularly in an attempt to ‘draw the Younglings out of their shells. The sentence made no sense to him, and Perceptor couldn’t help but wonder what ‘Youngling’ meant. He hadn’t dared to ask so far, uncertain he would be answered, but the term still concerned him and aroused his curiosity. Anyway, he took cover the best he could, literally crawling between two that were slightly apart to have a better point of view -- for once, his newfound small size was helpful. Settling as best as he could under the circumstances, he continued to watch the two ‘Cons, optics furrowed._

_What were they doing exactly?_

_The way they moved, or were even installed was really intriguing. Now, one of the guards, the one whose voice identified as ‘DiamondAce’, was standing up, facing a wall. In his arms, he held the other guard -- Perceptor struggled a bit before remembering this one was most likely ‘Nightcloud’, or at least something like that. ‘Nightcloud’ had his arms wrapped around the other Decepticon’s shoulders, and his legs were in turn wrapped around DiamondAce’s hips. At the same time, he let his back lean against the wall. Perceptor tilted his head to the side, wondering what they might be doing in such a weird position… and why they seemed to rock into each other._

_The solution presented by itself quickly enough._

_As he observed the rocking motion, the scientist started to become more and more aware there was… something between the two Decepticons’ legs. Two something, in fact. On DiamondAce’s side, it was some kind of rod that extended directly from his pelvic armor. On Nightcloud’s side, the rod was also present. However, his own seemed to just… bobble into the air at DiamondAce’s own rod seemed to disappear in his body, resulting in succession of pants and pleads and small sounds that made Perceptor’s Spark tingle uneasily. Purplish and blueish fluids seemed to drop from the area their body joined._

_Perceptor bite his lips as he watched them continue to… do what they were doing. He wondered what these… extra parts were. They seemed to be a natural part of the two Decepticons, and the way they held themselves and used them seemed to denote a great familiarity with the use of said parts, but at the same time, the microscope didn’t remember having seen or heard of anything remotely similar. It was a bit disturbing, to be honest. Then again… he couldn’t draw his gaze away. He continued to watch, and started to feel another tingle through his body. Not in this Spark, though, this time. No. It came from lower. Much lower. At the apex of his thighs. Around the same area of pelvis the two ‘Cons were currently using._

_The Autobot scientist’s mind raced. Was it possible he held the same unknown-until-then components? Was what he was experiencing some sort of signal that preceded the release of said components? Or was it a sign of malfunction? If he had those components himself, why hadn’t he discovered them before? What was even those components’ purpose?_

_With sudden clarity, Perceptor realized he had a new study field at hand, and a small smile played on his lips as he continued to watch the two Decepticons together, until DiamondAce, with a mighty roar, seemed to trust a last time into his partner’s body. An eruption of fluid seemed to leak out of the opening in Nightcloud’s body. The tingle between Perceptor’s thighs intensified._

_How very… fascinating._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, yeah, I know, not exactly the best place to insert a cut and end the chapter, but a lot of what I wrote here is a sequence of flashbacks and discussions between Knock Out and Perceptor, and to make them more or less even in length, I had to end it here. You'll have the rest later one.  
> You can bet Knock Out is not going to like the rest of Perceptor's flashbacks at all. ;)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perceptor continues his tale, and Knock Out wants to strangle the guards.

“... and that how I first discovered my new study subject,” Perceptor finished, his cheeks slightly red -- not from shame, Knock Out noted distractedly, but from excitation. Great… Just great.

Knock Out had known a lot of Younglings and some Sparklings who had been presented with the ‘facts of life’ the exact same way Perceptor had discovered it -- by walking on a couple who were ‘busy, more often than not their Creators. Eck, they were using that method at the Protyhex Medical Academy in order to let the students know exactly what they were dealing with, before handling the possible trauma! About everybot Knock Out had met so far confronted with interfacing, especially Younglings, had reacted with a ‘yucky!’ comment or general approach before warming up to interfacing.

Of course, Perceptor, endlessly curious Perceptor, would fall in the small handful of ‘bots who found the process ‘fascinating’. Of course. Where was the high-grade when you really needed it?

And then… if the Youngling was indeed Sparked, then whoever he had found to interface with was probably just as curious and dedicated to ‘science’.

The red mech shuttered his optics and took deep breaths through his vents as he slowly counted backward to zero. “I see,” he finally allowed. He would be having words with the guards later on about it. It wasn’t so much the ‘interfacing where Younglings could see them’ bit he was furious about. It was more the ‘interfacing near someone that was far too eager to imitate them’ part he felt like screaming about. Especially when there were consequences -- consequences that a certain someone didn’t know about. Oh yes, he was going to blow some audios off…

… and also send a report ASAP to the Academy concerning the younger students. The medical staff already had too much on their plate without having to deal with a boom in teenage pregnancies -- even if, against all hopes, Perceptor was discovered to be a fake positive. Interfacing was very encouraged at the Academy, between the students -- and some teachers were eyeing the older students rather kindly as well -- as it was supposed to be the best way for the Autobot medical staff to learn about the stuff. Nothing could beat some actual experience, after all, right? Well, in theory. Now, they were covering contraception as well and giving it freely to every students -- be they ‘practicing’ or not -- but a single mistake, a single slip, and then it would be a disaster…

Yeah, better inforce news policies… just in case.

But he was getting distracted from the matter at spark. He needed to examine the Youngling. And he also needed to learn more about his ‘interactions’ with his partner -- or had he had several partners altogether while ‘experimenting’? Pit, the very thought was going to make him nauseous! -- in order to fill part of the microscope’s medical file. And, as weird as it was, Knock Out was probably going to have to give him a few tips about interfacing, and correct any and all misconceptions the Youngling might have stumbled upon. “Please, lay down on the berth,” he gestured to Perceptor and the Youngling, frowning, obeyed. “I just need to check over a few things. You wouldn’t mind telling me more about what you… discovered while I scan you, would you?”

“Do you need to know for a particular reason?” the microscope said, and his voice was full of wariness, his optics untrustful. Looked like his emotional subroutines were kicking in strongly this time.

“Well, you can call me curious,” Knock Out shrugged while trying to look aloof and reassuring. “But it’s not just about personal curiosity. I actually need to know for medical purpose. Don’t believe me? Yeah, I thought so,” the medic mumbled. “Let’s make a deal, shall we? You tell me about everything you… ‘learned’, and I’ll answer any question you have. Does it feel fair?”

Perceptor nibbled his lips a bit, looking thoughtful. “It seems reasonable,” he finally allowed. “I’ve been most curious about the purpose of that little nub just above my slit -- valve, I guess,” he corrected himself. “Also, where do the lubrifiant in the ‘valve’ come from? It is from a specialized, unknown reservoir? Is it fabricated by our bodies specifically for the purpose of lubricating that narrow opening? Or is it just normal lubricant coming directly from our lines?”

“Ah, ah, young mech, first you tell me your stories, then I’ll answer you,” Knock Out tutted, flashing a quick smirk. Well, if all of the Youngling’s questions were like that, he shouldn’t have too much problem answering them. It would be pretty much like teaching a normal Medical Academy student.

Perceptor seemed a bit unnerved, but nodded sharply. “Very well. After this new venture was revealed to me, as I said, I became quite taken by checking over my own body for signs of a similar array…”

*-*-*-*-*

_Finding out the new components hadn’t been overly hard. As he now suspected what he was looking for, it was easy for Perceptor to let his hands roam over his own frame in a precise, meticulous way in search for seams or latches that were so smalls they could barely be discerned from the rest of the plating. Still, there were here, and so touch confirmed, and Perceptor could only muse over why exactly he had never found them before. Were they a recent addition due to his shift of frame? Or had external causes be the reason these seams had never been uncovered?_

_He would need to make more appropriate researches into the subject… if he ever managed to get out which, sadly, was not likely. Granted, perhaps he could politely request for some reading and writing material in order to put his thoughts and discoveries down for recording. It would certainly be more helpful than those so-called ‘toys’ the Decepticons kept bringing them over. It was really curious, the way the Decepticons tried to shower them with such inane, boring things, under the pretext their prisoners needed something ‘to occupy themselves’ and that toys ‘were of their age’._

_The microscope held little interest for them. ‘Dolls’ and ‘puppets’ and ‘stuffed animals’ and ‘board games’ and ‘blocks’ and whatsnot. Some of the prisoners tentatively tried them, but Perceptor himself found them highly dubious. The ‘board games’ were confusing for the most part, except the 3-D chess sets and the ‘Conquests and Dominions’ boards, which were classical tools for learning strategy he was familiar with. The ‘dolls’ looked like cheap approximation of mechs or aliens species that had been documented -- the Quintesson one he had seen in the arms of a little truck-femme had really too few and too fake-looking tentacles, for one -- and the ‘stuffed animals’ weren’t much better. Having studied the animals himself as part of an Academy project, Perceptor could have cited a dozen of flaws in the toys’ overall design, and he found their lack of realism astounding. A real krystal-bear never looked half-as-friendly; indeed, it was a ferocious animal whose claws could rip a mech apart. The one cougaraider he had seen had had too short limbs for its body. The spots on the photo-panthers were all wrong -- they served no camouflage purpose! And he didn’t dare to think about the color swaps some of the other species such as the electro-elephants had endured…_

_Were people really supposed to think they were realistic cyberlife representations? Perceptor’s scientist mind scoffed at the notion._

_He seemed to be the only one who felt like it, though. Even Wheeljack had seemed genuinely interested in the weird things, and had waved at him to let it go as Not deterred at the time, Perceptor had tried to let the Decepticons know of his griefs, only for a guard to chuckle and pat him -- actually pat him! -- on the helm, calling him a ‘very precocious Youngling’. Then said guard had more or less forced him to choose a ‘personal stuffed animal’ to keep, as were the other inhabitants of Block D-17. What had been the point? Perceptor still didn’t understand nowaday. But to let things go, he had eventually taken a boron-beaver, just so the Decepticons would get off his back about him ‘needing a cuddly little buddy’. It was the only logical, halfway satisfying choice he had anyway; the boron-beaver was reasonably well-imitated, though off scale and with fabric-made front teeth was were nothing like the sharp metal of the real ones._

_Perceptor didn’t ‘cuddle’ -- except maybe with Wheeljack, and it was a purely emotive thing he wasn’t fully able to analyze -- so most of the time, the boron-beaver was just dropped in a corner of the cell. The microscope just didn’t know what to do with it, really; he didn’t want to hold it in recharge like he saw some of his fellow prisoners do -- including, sadly, Wheeljack, who Perceptor had once found ‘napping’, holding his electro-elephant close to his chest, blast mask open as he was unconsciously chewing on one of the too large ears of the stuffed toy._

_Consterning. But perhaps not as much as the mech he had found actually talking to his stuffed squirrelbot as if it was a real person. Certainly, the psychiatric field would have a good orn should they come down to investigate the situation here._

_But, back at the matter at hand._

_As he had suspected, there were manual latches he had been able to undo to reveal the array of unknown components hidden underneath, in the exact same place had witnessed on the two Decepticons. He didn’t dismiss the possibility an automatic command existed, but so far, he didn’t know where it was or how to activate it -- perhaps by a correct order-sending in response to a proper set of physical stimuli? He had no way to know for sure so far, but he had every intent to find out. First, however, he had to become more familiar with the components between his thighs._

_There were so many details he hadn’t been able to take in at first glance! And so much that he couldn’t properly see due to bad angles! It was very frustrating. Touch helped him to get an idea, of course, but it wasn’t sufficient enough to gather proper data and understanding of the components.Nonetheless, touch felt… good._

_His finger lightly traced the edge of the small hole between his legs, circling it, his frame shuddering slightly at the contact. He couldn’t really get a good look, of course, but he could identify several parts here. First off, there were some sort of protective ‘folds’ framing the opening, all of which very sensitive to contact. The way they were disposed partly reminded Perceptor of lips components, though he was reluctant to use such a precise term to designate them. How annoying to not have more informations and proper designations! His fingers moved to lightly pinch them, and a soft moan escaped him involuntarily._

_There must have been a lot of sensors hidden here, interwoven in the protoform, he thought distractedly, especially in the small rim surrounding the opening. This specific part was, Perceptor could deduce from touch alone, made of some kind of extensible polymer, perhaps silicon-based, though he had no way to confirm it without further testing, as his finger sensors weren’t performant enough to analyze components by contact alone. The hole itself wasn’t a perfect circle, he mused, as there were some swelling here and there that was slightly deforming it. And if one added the ‘lips’ surrounding and partially covering it… ‘hole’ didn’t seem to be the right term anyway; it was far too… general. Slit, Perceptor mused, was a bit more specific, though he didn’t think it was quite the right word either. Port would have sounded better, but it felt like no medical or data port the microscope had ever seen or felt, so… yes, ‘slit’ was the best he could come with currently._

_His inquisitive fingers probed lower, and after circling once more the swollen opening, he carefully pushed a forefinger inside, wincing a bit as he did so even as he moaned softly. The slit was very tight, and the walls were already squeezing the intruder, crushing it into moist heat. Perceptor pushed slightly deeper, until he encountered a resistance he had already felt the first time he had attempted to probe the slit with his digits. There seemed to be some kind of barrier inside the slit, which felt pretty much like the rubbery seals some of his assistants sometimes used to close off test tubes to protect them from outside contamination as they observed chemical reactions. It stood to reason that the… ‘seal’ he felt inside him was fulfilling a similar task, protecting the unused equipment and keeping it clean, Perceptor decided. He didn’t dare to try and break it just yet, without someone to witness the event and take notes and record the act just in case, but it didn’t stop him to lightly push at it to test its resistance._

_So far, he had concluded a single digit would suffice to the task, as it didn’t seem to be very thick. That lack of thickness was probably was why the ‘seal’ did a poor job at keeping things entirely closed off, he mentally added as he withdrew his forefinger and found it coated with a sticky blueish substance that smell like heavy-grade lubricant. The apparition of this substance was puzzling, as it had literally came out of nowhere as far as Perceptor was concerned. He supposed it was actually seeping through the walls of the slit, but how exactly and from where, he had no idea. Was it coming directly from the lubricant lines spread across his body? Did it come from a previously unknown reservoir? And why was it such a shade of blue exactly, when normal lubricant was not?_

_He brought the finger to his mouth and licked off the coat of fluid quietly, pensively. His olfactive and oral sensors didn’t seem to notice anything amiss. Still… He shook his head briefly and brought his hand down again, fingers lightly brushing once again against the slit, this time falling directly atop the small sensor nub that rested over the slit. Perceptor lowered his gaze. This at least he could properly see. He touched it cautiously, frame shuddering as he made contact. It was very, very sensitive. Also, where the rest of Perceptor’s array was a muted gray, the small sensor nub stood out as a bright, light blue. This nub fascinated Perceptor, not only because of the sensation stroking it caused, but because of the shining. For some unknown reason, the nub actually shone. It hadn’t at first, when the scientist had uncovered the array, but as he touched himself, the nub had started to stand out and become… luminescent. Just like the rim of the slit. And like a trail going from the nub to the plug standing erected above the slit._

_Speaking of…_

_He gazed thoughtfully at the second main ‘part’ of the array under his armor. When he had finally managed to unlatch the panel, he had been surprised not to find the ‘rod’ he had witnessed on the two Decepticons he had observed earlier. The slit had been there, but not the rod. However, there had been a… housing of sort, in a round shape. Puzzled, the scientist had worked his hand over the closed housing, accidentally tearing off a thin membrane of silicon that had rested over it -- a seal, Perceptor had to acknowledge in retrospect -- which had almost brought him to tears with sudden pain. Once it had receided, though, he had started to stroke it tentatively, and he had been rewarded by the housing opening, allowing the tip of a rod to poke out._

_He had to work over that tip for a long while before the rod -- that he decided was more like a plug -- started to rise out gradually, becoming swollen and hard. Not that it wasn’t hard to begin with; closer examination and having it become limp between his fingers upon intense manipulations that had resulted in a spray of purplish, sticky fluid had lead Perceptor to deduce the plug was composed of a particular layout. He couldn’t prove it without scans, radiographies and perhaps dissection, but he felt pretty much certain the plug was composed of a hard core, probably a small, thin telescopic rod of metal, that was totally surrounded by rubber and silicon-based layers in which microscopic energon, lubricant and coolant lines circulated. External stimuli, registered as pleasurable, made the Spark increase its beating and in turn overheated the frame, which lead to a distortion and swelling of the energon lines. This distortion provoked a swelling of the layers while in the same time, the telescopic rod unfolded, thus making the plug long and hard and ready to be… used, he supposed._

_So, the plug, ready to be used, rose out of its housing. Perceptor suspected that the actual rising was also helped by a system of springs, but it wasn’t important right now. Deftly, he put a hand around the base of his plug and squeezed gently, moaning softly. It felt very, very good._

_Optics narrowed to have a better look despite his failing optics, he tried to get a better look at his plug. There was the luminous trail on the underside, running all the way to the tip. The little interwoven platelets that gave the plug structural integrity. The tip itself, blunt and rather… bulbous, smooth and sensitive to touch, red like his plating in deep contrast of the dark grey of the rest, with a miniscule hole from which fluid splurted out when a charge had accumulated enough in Perceptor’s body…_

_Fascinating._

_“P… Percy? What are you doing?” came a strangled voice at the door of his cell._

_The microscope rose his head and peered attentively through his visor-glasses. “Hello, Wheeljack,” he said simply as he recognized his old partner and friend. He shifted and sat up cross-legged on the berth, nodding. “Please, do come in.” It was a rather futile thing to say, of course; anybody could enter or exit the cells whenever they wanted, except at night, where the prisoners were accounted and the cell locked down for the night with their single or two occupants. Not that a prisoner couldn’t spend his night in another cell if he requested it on the ground of wanting company or offering comfort to a friend. Wheeljack had argued it several times when Perceptor had come to Block D-17 for the first time, the emotional subroutines making the microscope confused and… afraid. The other mech had cuddled with him several night cycles in a row to try and calm him down, which he managed to do easily. It was, after all, Wheeljack, Perceptor’s closest associate and one of the very few mechs he could call ‘friend’, even when his emotions had been reduced to almost nothing._

_Nowaday, Perceptor spend his nights alone in a single-person cell, and so did Wheeljack, but there were times where, occasionally, they reverted to this old pattern. Their Decepticons guards rarely raised a fuss, as after all, ‘socializing’ and ‘interacting in a positive way with his fellow Autobots’ were things the medic Phlegm and the psychiatrist Clang, who Perceptor was supposed to see every decacycle, had stressed out._

_For all it was a medical order, Perceptor rarely interacted with anyone but Wheeljack. It had raised a few inquiries from the medics, but they seemed to both think that he actually sought out Wheeljack at times as positive sign, so they tended not to try and force the microscope out of his comfort zone by forcing him to spend time with others._

_“Hello,” Wheeljack answered by reflex, his optics still wide and focused intently on the other mech. “What is that?” he asked warily, though even as he spoke, he took a step forward, optics narrowed as he detailed the… additions to Perceptor’s frame. His vents kicked off suddenly, and he blinked, surprised to noticed his own frame had increased in heat. Curious. He felt something course through him, something that reminded him vaguely of the joy he felt whenever one of his inventions was coming together or whenever he was racing on the race tracks, first before all his concurrents. It was… excitement? Now, that was really curious. Why would he feel excitation looking at Perceptor’s… unusual new bits? Unless it was excitation bound to the discovery of something new… Yes, yes, it had to be that._

_Perceptor hummed softly in disappointment. “You have no idea either? How inconvenient. I had hoped you would known, as you’re usually very knowledgeable about anatomy, given the number of times you managed to blow yourself up,” he said, and there was a small quirk of his lips that let Wheeljack know he was joking._

_“Naw, I’m not as knowledgeable as you or Red Alert. It’s you two who pull me back together,” he joked in return, vocal indicator flashing in good humor. It was Spark-warming to see and hear Perceptor showing he had humor, even if it was sometimes subtle. For all the things the Decepticons were doing to them -- imprisoning them, making them shrunk, treating them like if they were dim newly protoformed mechas, stopping Wheeljack from racing or experimenting -- he couldn’t help but feel grateful they had given him back something of the old Perceptor, the one he had known before science got the better of him. “May I come sit next to you?” he asked._

_Perceptor blinked. “Curious question. I don’t see why you couldn’t,” he said, moving slightly to the side as to make more room for his friend. “You didn’t need to ask.”_

_“Yeah, I guess so, but… It felt better to ask, for some reason,” the engineer shrugged helplessly, feeling lame. He didn’t really understand why he had asked; perhaps Perceptor’s… ‘parts’ had thrown him off for a moment? Even as he sat down, he couldn’t help but watch them, taking in as many details as he could, from the rod-thingy standing erected to the… folded-thingy underneath. “So… care to explain?” he asked, trying to calm himself down. His Spark was beating fast and his systems weren’t exactly cooling down and he couldn’t stop staring, and he had the feeling it wasn’t good._

_Perceptor, thankfully, didn’t seem to mind the looks as he answered, uncrossing his legs and leaning back against the wall to give Wheeljack a full view of the array between his thighs. “I think I have found a new study subject,” he commented simply. Wheeljack glanced at him, eagerly waiting for more. Perceptor noticed the engineer’s hands were tightening on reflex. Interesting; usually, it betrayed a strong interest on Wheeljack’s part. How many time had he seen him do something similar while they tried to explain some of their latest projects and ideas to the members of the Autobot High Council or trying to convince Ultra Magnus to give them more funding, when the engineer was suddenly struck by inspiration and wanted nothing more than to ditch the meeting and go try his new theories?_

_“That still doesn’t tell me what it is exactly,” Wheeljack mentioned as he slowly pointed out to Perceptor’s plug, the tip of his digit just shy of actually touching it. Oh, but he was very curious about it. What was the texture like? Could it grow bigger? Just how did it fit in the body if it was it was always this length? What was its purpose? How was it constructed? He could feel his mind race and scramble for answers he didn’t have, and the excitement he felt wasn’t all about seeing Perceptor like that anymore, but also because he was now on a quest for answers, like any true scientist should._

_“I am unsure myself,” Perceptor allowed, a bit embarrassed. “I have observed two of our guards participating in a… strange ritual, using these parts. The plug of one of them,” he gestured at his own to enforce the idea, “had been put into the slit --” he gestured at his own once again “-- of the second. The one plugging in kept moving in and out of his partner’s slit. Said partner was very vocal, and the sounds he made were almost all pleasurable in nature. I suspect this is due to a strong concentration of sensors and receptors underneath the plating and in the protoform.”_

_Wheeljack nodded slowly. “So, this go in and out?” he said, this time putting a digit on Perceptor’s newly dubbed ‘plug’. Perceptor shuddered with a soft noise Wheeljack identified as pleasure, and he felt a shudder go down his frame. He had never heard Perceptor do such a sound before. It was… enthralling. “Can it go inside your own ‘slit’ as well?” he asked curiously, trying to focus as he detailed once more the two components Perceptor showed him. The plug didn’t seem to be able to detach itself, but you never knew… He swallowed dryly as he glanced at the slit between Perceptor’s length, especially when he was hit with the vague smell of lubricant that seemed to escape from it. For some reason, it seemed to have a strong effect on the engineer’s system, and it troubled him._

_“Sadly, it isn’t,” Perceptor commented. “I have tried, mind you, but the plug can’t seem to be bend to reach the slit underneath. It can’t extend past a certain point, as it is now, and it isn’t detachable from the bulk of the body. Indeed, it is quite well anchored. I find myself unable to reproduce what I saw alone.”_

_“Oh… Too bad,” Wheeljack said dimly, optics still focused on the microscope’s array. “Uh… how did you find out you had… those?” he asked lamely. “I mean, the Decepticons might have had it, but there was no guarantee you had too, so…”_

_“I thought the same thing in the beginning, but my body was already registering internal reactions that went beyond my usual internal parameters and patterns, leading credence there was something inside me reacting to what I saw -- though I’m not sure why. Perhaps the… intercourse I witnessed sent unnoticeable signals?” he mused aloud. “Anyway, I came back and explored my pelvic area by touch in order to try and find a way to open the panel. As you see, I found latches, although I’m convinced an automatic release system must exist,” he confided._

_“Fascinating,” Wheeljack whispered. “Do you think that I too have…?” he gestured vaguely at Perceptor’s components._

_“This is a theory we should put to test immediately,” the microscope smiled -- actually smiled! -- and Wheeljack felt his cheeks flush behind his blast mask. “Do you want me to help you?”_

_“... if you would be so kind,” he found himself answering, vocal indicator shining brightly._

*-*-*-*-*

“Wait, wait, wait,” Knock Out cut out the tale of the microscope. “So Wheeljack didn’t know either about… about valves and spikes?” How the Pit had a second Youngling managed to slip through the intended lectures? No wonder they were in that situation if more Younglings did! Oh, he was so going to report it and have the proper authorities organize check ups and new lectures! They couldn’t afford several Youngling pregnancies in a row!

“He wasn’t more knowledgeable about it than I was,” Perceptor nodded, “though he was just as eager to learn and discover more about our ‘interface components’.”

“I bet he was,” the medic mumbled. “Please, put your pedes in the stirrups,” he gestured at Perceptor, who obeyed quietly, a slight frown on his face.

“Why?” he asked, obviously distrustful.

“I need to physically check your valve, if only to make sure you didn’t accidentally damage yourself,” Knock Out tried to immediately reassure him. “For that, I’ll need to be able to see your valve without interference. But, don’t worry, I won’t examine it just yet. I’m still waiting for the results of the scan,” he said, gesturing to a small pad that he had plugged into Perceptor and which was currently still receiving information from the Youngling’s body. “So, how about you finish telling me what you did with your friend?”

Perceptor nodded slowly. “Helping Wheeljack to open up wasn’t so hard, given I now knew where to search and how to undo the latch to open the pelvic panel hiding the valve and spike…”


	4. Chapter 4

_Wheeljack’s plug didn’t look quite like his own, Perceptor mused as the engineer stroked himself to full hardness. The form wasn’t dissimilar, of course; like its own, it had a bulbous, blunt tip, with the same kind of miniscule opening allowing fluid to come out when releasing a charge. There was also the same kind of platelets, and a luminescent trail on the underside of the plug. But the differences were also very noticeable. For one, Wheeljack’s plug seemed… thicker than Perceptor’s own, by more than an inch -- perhaps two, but it was hard to say at first glance. At the same time, it was also a tad shorter -- from less than an inch, the red and blue mech guessed. The luminescent parts were green instead of being blue, like on Perceptor. And the bulbous tip was white with strokes of green instead of the plain red of the microscope._

_Yes, it was different. And Perceptor wondered just how different his own slit, that he couldn’t see, was from the engineer’s own. He looked at him intently, trying to guess what the biggest difference could be, but at lost about it. If only he had a way to get a good look at his own parts…_

_… Oh. But there was. Provided Wheeljack didn’t mind, of course. Then again, Wheeljack had never refused before. The context might have been different, but it wasn’t so unusual, was it?_

_“Is it normal it doesn’t look quite like yours?” the engineer wondered curiously as he examined himself, one hand wrapping around the base of his plug and gently pulling, hissing softly at the sensation. Slag, it felt good!_

_“I am unsure,” Perceptor answered, head tilted to the side. “I don’t presently have enough data to build convincing hypothesis as to why our plugs don’t look identical. As such, I’m wary of affirming it is normal. I hate not having enough material,” he mumbled, turning his head away with a frown. It made Wheeljack chuckle._

_“Don’t I know that,” he said fondly. “So… what do we do now? Should I try to put this plug into your slit? Or the reverse, perhaps?” he asked curiously._

_“I… I don’t know,” Perceptor fumbled a bit, surprised. Sure, it was the desired outcome of the experience, but was he really ready for that? Besides, wasn’t there some steps they were missing? After all, the plugs -- wherever his own or Wheeljack didn’t look like they could actually fit into each other’s slits. “I’m… I’m unsure of the actual way to proceed from here,” he confessed reluctantly._

_Wheeljack’s vocal indicator shone briefly. “Oh. Well…” he paused and tilted his head to the side. “I’m still not sure of what I’m doing anyway. So… perhaps you could help me out figuring what I’m doing?” he asked hopefully as he stroked his plug. “I mean, I kind of have the plug-thing figured out -- you stroke it long enough, fluid is going to burst and it’ll reduce its size and will be easily tucked back into its housing. The slit, though… Well, it’s kinda mysterious, don’t you think?”_

_“Quite,” the microscope agreed with a nod and a small smile that disappeared immediately as he started to fidget. “What… what test would you suggest?”_

_Wheeljack swallowed. “Well… How about I explore yours?” he asked simply. “I mean, we could explore mine, too, but I was thinking, since you actually started to touch yourself down here and I didn’t, perhaps yours is more ready for contact and would be easier to work with? After all, with your previous experimenting, you must be more familiar with the… sensation we feel down there,” he said cautiously. “As such, you should be able to notice the differences right away, right?”_

_“... the idea does have merit,” the red and blue mech allowed, leaning back against the wall, legs opening wider. “May I add a suggestion, though? I would like to request a sensory and visual connexion in order to study and share my reactions, if you agree.”_

_Wheeljack brightened. “Excellent idea! It should provide us with more data to analyze in one go!” Even as he spoke, he let one panel on his left wrist open, revealing a series of small data ports as well as several thin, curled cables, all ending with a small jack. Perceptor hummed as he himself opened a similar panel on his right wrist, revealing the same equipment. A slight frown marked his face briefly._

_“Wait. Are we sure they’re still in working order? Whatever the Decepticons did to us might have damaged the connexions,” he warned. By the Allspark, he hoped not! Wheeljack was quick to reassure him._

_“They work, don’t worry. I had mine tried recently. I jacked into Skids the other day…”_

_“Oh, you were in contact with Skids? I wasn’t aware he was in our Block,” the microscope perked up, vaguely interested. Skids was not a overly high-ranked member of the Ministry of Sciences, but the theoretician had a solid reputation and his work was often presented in serious Cybertronian publications. Perceptor had had the occasion to frequently review his work before printing, and had associated with him on a few projects. He wasn’t a friend, exactly, but he was someone Perceptor respected._

_“He isn’t anymore,” Wheeljack sighed. “The ‘Cons got him out three decacycles ago. Apparently, after reviewing of his case and files and ‘given his age’, it was decided he could be transferred into another, lighter-security prison until his adoption.”_

_“Adoption?” Curious word, and even curiouser concept. As far as Perceptor understood it, it was like getting released in the specific care of one or two jailers who were tasked with keeping an optic on you and provide for your needs until a certain time period._

_Wheeljack shrugged helplessly. “I don’t get it either. But, to be honest, I’m happy he managed to get out of here. The ‘Cons may not be mistreating us, but getting out of Trypticon would be nice. I’d like to exercise my tires like you wouldn’t believe,” he sighed._

_Perceptor nodded noncommittally. He had never truly understood Wheeljack’s obsession with racing. However, whatever could make him happy and didn’t explode should be considered a good thing. Even if Wheeljack had ended in race accidents more than once. He had to agree that getting out of Trypticon would be a good thing, though._

_“Why were you jacking in? Were you studying something?”_

_“More or less… He was working on personal theories relating to how the ‘Cons may have managed to make us shrink, and he wanted to share them discreetly, as he didn’t think our jailers would like it. After all, if he found the right one, he could have started working on a reversal process. He thought I could provide inside and keep a copy of his files in a corner of my processor to work on my own.”_

_“And you didn’t tell me? Or thought about asking me to join your researches?” Perceptor asked, indignant and feeling… hurt._

_“Well, I couldn’t exactly share it with anyone, could I? After all, it was all about discretion, so the less people involved the better,” Wheeljack pointed out. “And anyway, it didn’t work as it should have. The ‘Cons found out about it when they did a deep processor scan on Skids before sending him off. They erased the theories from Skids’ processor then tracked me down to erase them from mine before we could transfer them to someone else for safekeeping,” he sighed. “Then I got send in solitary for a couple of solar cycles. They told everyone it was because I had tried to snatch chemicals from the Infirmary but…” he shrugged._

_“And you didn’t?” Perceptor asked, raising an optic ridge. Wheeljack rubbed the back of his helm._

_“Okay, maybe I did and they also punished me for that, but I was bored and I just wanted to try a basic reaction to occupy me a couple of megacycles. It wasn’t a crime,” he mumbled. “I don’t know if they did anything else to Skids, and it worries me,” he added, his vocal indicator dark, sure sign he was troubled. Without knowing why, Perceptor put a hand on the engineer’s shoulder and patted it in vague comfort. Wheeljack put his hand over his, and the microscope’s Spark fluttered briefly._

_“He’s probably fine. After all, if they wanted to kill us, they would have done so much earlier, wouldn’t they?” Perceptor tried to reason, though he wasn’t fully certain of his statement. It was hard to really say what the Decepticons could and would do with them._

_“Yeah… you’re probably right,” Wheeljack rumbled. “So… ready?” he asked to change subject, holding out one of his connexion cables. Perceptor nodded and started to take out his own cables. He shuddered as Wheeljack jacked in and his own cables found their mark, connecting in the engineer’s ports. For a moment, they both stayed still as their systems started to harmonize themselves and data packets started to get exchanged. On cue, a small window opened in Perceptor’s vision, showing… him, just as Wheeljack saw him. He nodded, satisfied. The visual connexion was in perfect synchronization._

_“Systems working perfectly,” he said simply._

_“Mine too,” the engineer called back. His vocal indicator gave a flash. Perceptor just smiled as he let his systems align themselves on those of feeling and felt his body relax._

_Hardline connexions were not something many of their fellow Autobots discussed or used casually or lightly. After all, it was, short of direct Sparks merges, the most intimate thing two mechs could share. There were no secrets between two ‘bots jacking into each other. They shared an unique link, a link that allowed them to see and feel what the other was seeing and feeling, without the inconvenients a Spark-to-Spark contact had. Jacking wasn’t permanent, and provided one didn’t just get out of the synchronisation too fast or without a care for the other or for his own well-being, it also was much safer. Such links were considered to be ‘highly romantic’ and featured into a number of popular stories._

_Personally, Perceptor saw nothing ‘romantic’ about jacking into another mech. He rather considered it to be a commodity and something practical to exchange algorithms and data packets directly and as such, eliminate possible leaks and maintain secrecy. Wheeljack, he knew, felt very much the same. Jacks and hardline connexions were tools, nothing more, nothing less, and a scientific mind like his own shouldn’t try and make it more._

_Except, he had to admit, it was always somewhat… comforting to feel Wheeljack inside his systems like that. Even if it often was dizzying or very puzzling, due to the backlash of the engineer’s emotional subroutines when they met his lacking ones. It was one of the downside of having make more room for science, Perceptor acknowledged. Without the personality components he had deleted so long ago, his and Wheeljack’s systems took much longer synchronizing and had sometimes secondary effects ranging from processor aches to purging tanks. For those reasons, they had limited their connexions to the bare minimal. However, even with those inconveniences, they had never fully stopped from using them. Some uncomfortable moments were well-worth the data they could work with and refine during a single link._

_Even as they connected, Perceptor had started to brace himself, waiting for the slight dizziness to start. But, to his surprise, none came. His systems seemed to adapt to Wheeljack’s own much quicker and more smoothly than they had in millions of stellar cycles. Hmm… it seemed the Decepticons’ attempt at replacing his emotional programming had had some beneficial effects, he mused, only for Wheeljack to chuckle._

_“Did you doubt it?” he asked, having ‘heard’ Perceptor’s thoughts. The microscope raised an optic ridge; the connexion was really working better than expected. Usually, Wheeljack couldn’t pick up his CPU’s data flows so quickly. Big white hands slide over his body and rested on his hips to steady him as he shifted, and Wheeljack hummed._

_“You really should speak to someone about your bad vision,” the engineer muttered softly._

_Perceptor blinked and tilted his head to the side. “Is it a problem? Do your systems have trouble processing my vision field?”_

_“Not really… but the window’s content is really fuzzy,” the larger mech pointed out. “I see what you see, remember? Unless you can somewhat reroot the power and focus of your microscope’s lenses to your optic sensors…”_

_“I tried. It doesn’t seem to work anymore,” Perceptor answered calmly as Wheeljack made him lay down on the berth. “I suspect some personal adjustments to my frame as well as additional components I had put in especially to use this feature have been removed or were reintegrated somehow by my systems when the Decepticons experimented on us.”_

_“One Pit of an experiment,” Wheeljack mumbled before he tried to change subject. “So, now that we’re connected, what do you want me to do?”_

_“I suppose we could start by just looking,” Perceptor answered plainly as he focused himself on the window showing him Wheeljack’s video feed. “Can you take a closer look between my legs?”_

_“Sure,” the engineer rumbled as he shifted, taking Perceptor’s legs in his hands and pushing them apart, letting them rest bend at the knee on either side of him. His face rested close to Perceptor’s bare array as he took in the details, from the small node the microscope had told him was rigged with sensors to the underside of the plug and, most importantly, to the folds and the hole they were half-hiding from view. With a finger, he gently pushed them apart to see the slit, taking note of Perceptor’s slight shudder even before it was reverted back into his own body._

_“Sensitive?” he asked, though it wasn’t really a question. Really, he had felt it, so it was more to make small talks._

_“Very much so,” Perceptor answered, vents working a bit harder than at their usual pace. He peered with attention at the video feed he was receiving, taking in the small details of his own array, and the way the fold spread. He also took interest in the small opening they were revealing, the way the rim around it seemed slightly swollen despite having been just lightly brushed against. More so, he took interest in the small blueish glint of lubricant he could see through Wheeljack’s optics. He opened his mouth to ask the engineer to try and analyze it, but he didn’t need to. His old friend picked up on it before he even opened his mouth and one of Wheeljack’s large -- well, larger than Perceptor’s owns at any rate -- digits poked immediately at his slit, the tip of the finger sliding inside._

_Perceptor winced and let a small cry escape him, hands clenching reflexively around Wheeljack’s shoulders. The engineer let a grunt escape him in turn and retracted his finger right away, a drop of liquid staining the tip._

_“Sorry! Sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you!” the mech said immediately, vocal indicators flashing, sounding mournful. “Perhaps we should…”_

_“No,” Perceptor cut out. “We’re scientists; we must continued. Besides, you didn’t hurt me… not really. I was just… surprised,” he mumbled._

_Wheeljack chortled. “Surprised? You were more than that. I felt your discomfort, remember?”_

_“Discomfort,” the microscope acknowledged. “Not pain. Your fingers are larger than mine are, and I fear this slit acts very much like a new gasket.” Wheeljack blinked and Perceptor elaborated. “The inner parts seem to be able to stretch to accommodate a bigger girth. However, probably because the components have never been used, this isn’t comfortable in the slightest… even if brushing against sensors do come up with pleasurable feelings.”_

_“So… so long as we don’t manage to have this stretched,” the engineer said as he pointed at Perceptor’s slit, “you’ll be gasping or in pain if we try to touch it?”_

_“I fear so.”_

_Wheeljack nodded slowly. “Well, I do see how that can be a problem, especially if a single digit is enough to make you gasp and try to jump back. This experience will get nowhere like that. On the other end, I don’t want to hurt you, and I can’t just force my way in, can I? If it’s like a new gasket, I’d tear something up on the way…”_

_“Using your glossa might be a suitable alternative,” Perceptor pointed out. “A glossa is much smaller and more supple than a digit, after all. It would also have the benefit to add oral lubricant over the array and inside the slit, if worked over correctly, allowing us to process with plugging in. It should also boost up the slit’s own lubricant production, given the slit is self-lubricating when I feel… aroused,” he said, flushing slightly over his last words. Wheeljack’s optics shone briefly with intensity._

_“Arousal? Really? How so? And how do you feel it? It is a steady heat increase in your circuits? An augmentation of your Spark’s frequency? Increased body sensitivity and misfiring receptors?” the white and green mech asked with interest._

_“I think you’d better find out by yourself.” The words escaped Perceptor and caught him by surprise. It was certainly not something he had intended to say aloud, at least not this way. It was very unlike the proper behaviour he was usually showing._

_“I think I shall,” Wheeljack purred -- actually purred -- before he retracted his facemask. Perceptor tilted his head slightly and tried to focus on his old friend’s face. The more youthful look wasn’t a surprise, of course, since he had seen it plenty before, but…_

_“You seem to have less scars than before,” he whispered as he lifted a hand and lightly stroked on of Wheeljack’s cheek, following a dark grey line in the protoform and plating of the face that run from the cheekbone to the lip and crossed over it. he was very familiar with the engineer’s face, and with every single mark on it. Wheeljack’s tendency to blow himself up in failed experiments had translated into more or less serious consequences over the vorns. Most of Wheeljack’s original frame had been replaced -- new limbs, new pumps, new plating,... -- whenever he had had an accident. But there were some damages that just couldn’t be healed, or only so much. The engineer’s face was proof enough of this._

_His friend’s lower face as a mess of criss-crossing scars, and had been for a long time. Wheeljack used to joke it was what happened when one forgot proper security measure and didn’t put on enough protective plating around volatile chemical. Perceptor had never laughed at the joking attempt. Simply put, he didn’t see the humor in it, for he just saw the results: Wheeljack was disfigured. Oh, the Medical Corps had done his best to repair as many damages as they could, but as Red Alert had quipped once or twice, ‘they weren’t miracle workers’, and Wheeljack’s tendency to jump from one accident to the other hadn’t helped them._

_Perceptor traced another one which, he remembered clearly, had been stood out glaringly due to the thick repair tissue. The color of it was now paler, and not as swollen as it once was. “Some have definitely faded,” he added in wonder. “Of course, I had noticed some already were before, but it seems much neater now.”_

_Wheeljack rubbed the back of his helm with a sheepish look, smiling a bit as he tried not to giggle; the scars felt… ticklish under Perceptor’s fingers. “That ‘Con medic, Phlegm, spread some kind of healing salve all over my face. More of less forced me to because he didn’t like the way the scar tissue looked. He spend a lot of time ranting at ‘incompetents nurses who should have cared more for patients when scars were still fresh’,” he explained. “Seriously, it was a bit scary to see him rant like that, but he eventually calmed down and mumbled about some people not knowing better and yeah, perhaps some things had been already too bad off to work with anyway. I didn’t fully understood what he was on about, truth to be told. Anyway, he seemed to think it could do me some good, though he warned me it’ll never erase all the marks I have. Protoform is just too damaged and the damages too old for repair nanites to do much. I wasn’t expecting much, to be honest,” the engineer shrugged._

_Perceptor just hummed in acknowledgement. “I still find myself astounded by the way the markings evolve.”_

_“I’m prettier to look at, aren’t I? Wheeljack said, lips curling upward. Perceptor gave him an unamused look._

_“I feel it makes no difference,” he answered dryly, and Wheeljack obviously deflated. The microscope put a hand over the other mechling’s Spark and patted it. “After all, it doesn’t change who you are here, and your aesthetics have little to do with how much of a good friend and companion you are.”_

_It seemed to cheer Wheeljack up immensely. “Oh! Glad you think so, then,” he said with some joy. His hands moved and grabbed Perceptor’s hips more firmly even as he shifted himself, lying flat on his front between the microscope’s thighs. “Let’s get down to business,” he winked, vocal indicator flashing as he did so, and Perceptor felt himself blush for no reason. Perhaps it was the harmonics in his friend’s voice, or perhaps it was because he was leaning so close to his bare array… “Ready?”_

_Perceptor nodded slowly. Yes, he was ready. A bit tense, perhaps, because he wasn’t sure of how it was going to evolve, and having Wheeljack’s lips components over his sensitive external node and the folds of his valve would definitely be new and probably very different from the caresses he had given himself or the fingers poking in his slit, but he was ready. Probably._

_He was still telling himself that when Wheeljack slightly lifted him and put his mouth right over his slit, letting his glossa dart swiftly into it. His back arched and he moaned loudly, hands tightening by reflex around Wheeljack’s arms. It seemed to encourage the engineer to do it again. And again. And again. Between two tentative dipping, he gave small licks over the rest of the slit, most notably the outer sensor node, and Perceptor could only keen in what his body registered as mind-numbing pleasure. Pleasure was good, he thought dimly, but he wasn’t sure to like the way it played havoc on his mental capacities, reducing him to some kind of simpleton. He didn’t push Wheeljack away, though. In the contrary, he tightened his hold on the other Youngling, wanting to keep him close, and silently encouraging him to continue._

_Whenever he managed to focus, he watched the small window that relayed what Wheeljack was seeing. He could make out the way the external sensor node seemed to have swollen, if just barely, and the way it seemed to glitter with lubricant. He could also make out the beads of fluid that were slowly working their way down his valve, wetting the narrow passage. A drop landed on Wheeljack’s glossa, and the engineer hummed as he tried to identify the composition by taste alone. Perceptor just keened even more as the sensations and analysis were reflected back at him._

_Wheeljack paused briefly in his ministrations to look up at Perceptor, taking in the way the microscope’s face had relaxed. His vents were working hard as he panted, and his cheeks had taken a reddish hue due to his increased warmth. He didn’t think he had seen Percy like that since… oh, their Academy way, and the time the microscope fell asleep in the lab while they were doing a watch over one project or another. It was very enticing, he mused. “You taste good,” he whispered before going back to business. Perceptor didn’t think it warranted a verbal answer, and just let out another loud moan as he was slowly worked over. He could feel his frame relax and his slit… loosen, somehow, as his body warmed up and the opening became more and more lubricated._

_Increase in body warmth also meant he had an electrical charge building up, as according to his previous experiments. Only, it was much more intense than what he has experienced until now, he thought distractedly as he felt his slit react in a rather unexpected way -- the narrow passage seemed to… clench. He had not felt anything similar previously, and he pondered about the meaning, his data being instantly transmitted to Wheeljack. The engineer rumbled pleasantly, but didn’t stop what he was doing, and the vibrations against his slit made Perceptor keen aloud._

_“Ooooh… ‘Jack,” he whimpered._

_::Most fascinating,:: the engineer let out on the comm. transmission between their two bodies. ::I can also feel the clench of your slit over my glossa. It seems to entice more reactions from me; there seems to be some kind of clear fluid beading out of my plug. Is that normal?::_

_::Quite,:: Perceptor found himself answering on the comm, his communication flow steadier than his vocal processor at the moment; even as he transmitted data packets to Wheeljack this way, he was moaning aloud, something he found quite surprising and worrisome. He wasn’t used to lose control like that. ::I noticed as much when my… excitation attained a certain level. This first fluid, however, is far from having the consistence and stickiness of the fluid bursting out when the charge building in one’s body reach its peak,:: he mentioned as calmly as possible, even as he rocked his hips to meet the thrusts of Wheeljack’s glossa. Another reflex that seemed to come naturally to him and to which he had never thought before. He wondered if his frame -- and by extension, Wheeljack’s own -- possessed some sort of inner, hard-to-find, analyse and decypher coding that ruled over such matters. It would make an awful amount of sense._

_A tense, sharp cry escaped him as his body stiffened suddenly and he felt the charge that had been building up in his body disperse. His engines rumbled loudly, and static electricity seemed to escape by all his seams, shocking Wheeljack as it did, and the engineer pulled back, optics wide._

_“Yow! Is that normal?” he asked as he felt a buzz through his own system and shook a bit under the onslaught of sensations he was receiving from his connexion with Perceptor._

_“Yes,” Perceptor finally managed to say as the charge finally finished to disperse, letting his frame run hotter than before. It was the… third, perhaps fourth time he went through the process, but this time, it had been longer and stronger than what he had experienced touching himself. It was… He didn’t know how to describe it. How frustrating for a ‘bot of his intellect. “Perfectly normal, at least as far as I was about to experience by myself.” His body sagged and leaned back to lie flat on the berth. “What do you think, then, my dear colleague?”_

_“It was interesting,” Wheeljack rumbled. “Though I find myself most curious of what the sensations would be like once someone is properly plugged in,” he added as he shifted and knelt, letting Perceptor take a good look at the stiff plug still standing erected between his legs._

_Perceptor nodded. “I share that curiosity. However, I’m unsure if my slit is ready to take it,” he said regretfully as he shifted. He could feel himself being wet and rather hot between his legs, but still… Was it truly sufficient? A finger was already a problem, so a whole plug…_

_“Well… if it’s like a gasket, how about I try stretching it with my fingers once more?” the engineer proposed. “Perhaps this time, you will not be so… surprised,” he added, winking, to which Perceptor answered by a flat, unamused look that let the white and green mech coughing in uneasiness._

_“This would be the most welcome outcome,” Perceptor allowed, spreading his legs further. “I trust I don’t need you to be careful?”_

_“Of course not. I don’t want to hurt you, Percy. I would never do anything to hurt you,” Wheeljack rumbled as he let his hands roam over the microscope’s thighs, reaching for his array._

_“The feeling is appreciated,” the red mech answered simply, a slight flush over his cheeks as he looked down at what Wheeljack did. Part of him felt like he should add something, perhaps tell the engineer how… nice it was of him. But the words stayed stuck in his vocalizer, and his conflicting feelings didn’t let him express much. What was he feeling? He was unsure, and this uncertainty made him want to stay silent and just… let things go. And at the same time, he wanted to hug Wheeljack and cuddle with him. Very, very confusing._

_“I know,” Wheeljack whispered, and Perceptor only had a few second to ponder just how much of his confusion and troubled feeling Wheeljack had felt over their connexion before a single digit breached his slit again, the tip entering the lubricated hole easily as it slowly started to trace the layout of the walls..._

_***BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!*** _

*-*-*-*-*

Perceptor paused in his tale, frowning. “May I inquire what this noise was?” he asked as politely as he could, turning his head to the side to watch as the Decepticon medic walked about. He fought the urge to fidget nervously and remove his pedes from the ‘stirrups’ in which he had put them, feeling strangely self-conscious of having his array bare before Knock Out. He didn’t know why exactly; being bare before Wheeljack hadn’t provoked the same reactions until now so, logically, showing his pelvic components to someone else shouldn’t have either. Except it did, and now his processor was telling him to hide himself from prying optics. Which was ridiculous; the Decepticon was a medic, and he had told him he needed to examine him down there...

“Scanner finished the check over of your systems,” Knock Out said mildly as he picked up the pad and started to read, already grimacing at the first line of coding. He read each sentence and each number two times each, slowly, carefully, just to be sure his optics weren’t playing tricks on him.

Finally, he sighed. He had hoped it’d be a false positive, but no. Results were damning.

“Congratulation, Youngling,” he drawled as he turned toward Perceptor who watched him with a raised optic ridge. “You’re Carrying.”

Perceptor’s optics narrowed. “Carrying? I’m afraid you need to be more precise? Of what am I supposed to be a ‘carrier’? Did you find traces of a plague agent in my system? Or a coding aberration, perhaps?”

The red medic blinked, then slowly facepalmed. “Right,” he muttered, “no lecture on interfacing, no lecture on reproduction and bitties. Oh, it’s going to be like the Academy when the ‘bots got their first lesson all over, I just know it…” And, because it would be unseemly to be ranting or making a fool of himself by not appearing in charge and master of his nerves, he steadied himself, making sure his back was straight as he walked over and came to sat on a stool by the end of the berth, right between Perceptor’s spread legs. “Do relax, please, while I proceed to the physical exam,” he said as he took out a speculum on the tray next to the berth.

In all logic, he shouldn’t find any damage. From the microscope’s tale, the two Younglings had been prudent enough, making sure there was sufficient lubrication and dilated before doing ‘plug and play’. Still, one never knew, and he needed to check if the protoform was developing normally, which may not be the case given the Carrier was very young, and actually scan it to calculate its growth rate and prescribe the supplements Perceptor would need to take… assuming the Autobot was able to keep it.

There was always a risk, after all, that Perceptor’s body would reject the protoform and naturally miscarry it. Granted, the risk was weak by now, because the energy spikes in the scans he had taken indicated an healthy growth so far, even if the protoform itself was probably a bit brittle and on the small side due to lack of enough mineral components to strengthen it. Transfluid donations didn’t seem to be a problem, though, as far as the scan reported -- which indicated the two Younglings were probably still happily going at it. Knock Out couldn’t decided if it was a good or a bad thing.

Anyway, even if no miscarriage happened, and assuming the Youngling didn’t ask for an abortion -- which he could do -- or if it wasn’t forced on him by the ‘concerned’ higher ups, would the Autobot be allowed to keep the Sparkling to raise it? He was just a Youngling himself, and worse, he was a prisoner waiting for final judgement. The situation was going to cause a lot of processor aches, Knock Out could feel it already.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and concentrate on the matter at end, even as he moved the tool into position and prepared a camera. Perceptor’s systems spiked up and rumbled uneasily, but Knock Out didn’t care right now. His attention was on the check of the protoform. He needed to get an idea of its actual and future girth compared to those of its Carrier’s valve and its dilatation possibilities. It could become very important later on. After all, about half of Youngling pregnancies Knock Out had encountered or studied tended to end up with a surgery in order to extract the Sparkling from its Carrier, as most couldn’t give birth the ‘natural, normal’ way.

“You didn’t answer me, Doctor,” the microscope insisted, raising his head a bit to try and look at the Decepticon medic even as he felt the unknown medical tool slip into him and shuddered due to its coldness. “What am I ‘carrying’ exactly?”

“... What do you know exactly of reproduction, Perceptor? I mean, reproduction for our kind?” the medic asked, even as he worked.

The microscope’s optics narrowed in thought. “The term ‘reproduction’ as you use it would indicate the creations of more members of our species by other members of our species, as do some aliens species, correct?” he asked stiffly, and Knock Out nodded simply. The scientist almost scoffed. “In that case, I think the answer is clear. We don’t ‘reproduce’, as you put it. Unless you’re referring to the budding process? In which case, I might accept the word ‘reproduction’, though it is lacking in context…”

“Nevermind,” Knock Out cut him off. “Tell me, exactly, where do you think new mechs come from?”

Perceptor blinked. “From forged protoforms,” he answered simply. Everybody knew that. “The forging process take time and abundant quantities of living protomatters that we could mine off the sonic canyon of Cybertron. Most of those sources were drained over time, but some remain still, nestled deep into Cybertron’s exa structure” he added, remembering the text he had read several times. It made him feel like he was a student again, which was ridiculous. He had graduated from the Iacon Science Academy millions of stellar cycles ago, he wasn’t a newly protoformed mech anymore.

“Mostly correct,” Knock Out acknowledged as he worked. “However, you’re missing a step, are you not?”

“You’re referring to the insertion of a Spark in order to make the protoform come online, are you not?” the microscope asked, though he felt pretty certain of himself. “I wasn’t forgetting, I assure you. Sparks are produced by the Allspark. A long time ago, Sparks were pre-ordered from it and stocked in special banks until the protoforms they were intended for were completed, as creating the protoform took most part of the creation process. Ever since the Allspark was lost, we have been using the stored Sparks to create new generations,” the Autobot Youngling answered simply.

“Right… and wrong,” Knock Out said. “AUTOBOTS may have used this way to create new Cybertronians. However, ask yourself something, Youngling. After our temporary defeat following the Battle of Iacon and having to sign the Tyrest Accords that basically exiled us from Cybertron, we were left without protoforms or Allsparks to spark them and give them sentience. However, our number increased all the same. Why do you think so?”

“Now, you’re the one stating incorrect facts, Doctor,” Perceptor said, head slightly tilted to the side. “Decepticons did steal protoform before their demise, protoforms that were never recovered…”

“But we didn’t have Sparks for them, since we never managed to breach a Spark bank,” Knock Out countered. “As a member of the Autobot Elite, I supposed you were privy to all sorts of details, weren’t you? You know it to be true. So, I repeat, how do you think we managed to create new troops?”

“... I did mention budding, did I not?” the microscope asked carefully. Knock Out nodded. “Well, I suppose some of your number must be able to use that process.”

Knock Out hummed noncommittally. “An interesting theory -- and one which isn’t exactly wrong, I suppose, as we DID have a few Decepticons able to bud. However, you do know how budding happens, don’t you?”

“It’s roughly translate by the apparition of lesions and bubbles in the protoform, underneath the armor, which will eventually result in the expulsion of a protoform mass which will then shape itself into a new, fully functional protoform which is the perfect replica from its parent protoform. As well, each ‘bud’ already has a Spark, having been expulsed from the original protoform with a tiny bit of the donor’s Spark energy, such creating a new mecha who will be roughly identical in frame-type and Spark to its parent,” the microscope recited. “The phenomenon has been observed on several colonies, most notably the destroyed planet Paradron, where the entire population seemed to be issued from ‘budding’. Despite their origins which made most mechs queasy, Paradron medics were highly sought after, and their frame-type became popular enough it was eventually copied back on Cybertron, leading to a new Femme model.”

“And was Paradron the only planet where the ‘phenomenon’, as you put it, was observed?” Knock Out asked, optics shining briefly.

“No,” the microscope allowed. “It was mainly the main place of happening. Other colonies reported similar things, but most were observed on the local fauna of a number of planet. On Vespa II, for example…”

“Yes, I know what you likely refer to,” the red mech cut him off once more. “As fascinating as it is, however, it has little to do with the matter at hand. So, you think we managed to recreate a sufficient army by budding alone. This is a theory. However, it has one fundamental flaw, and I’m sure someone of your intelligence will pick it up right away.”

Perceptor stayed silent for a moment even as he felt Knock Out’s digits in him, palping various area of his valve. “... the frames diversity,” he finally sorted out, optics widening slightly. “Only a handful of frame models have recorded budding happenance. And a lot of the various soldiers having assaulted Metroplex were of unknown models, so they can’t have been budded, unless they’d been upgraded…”

“Correct,” Knock Out smirked more than he smiled as he made sure there was no tear inside the microscope’s valve and finally withdrew his fingers. “As such, it would suggest another method of conception, one which is not the standard protoforming, and which isn’t the budding process, don’t you think?”

“I quite agree, though I find myself puzzled on what such a method would be,” the microscope allowed, mind reeling. Had they missed something over time? Something that would have allowed them to keep Cybertron, if their numbers had been high enough? How could they have? And what may have they missed? What role did the extra parts under their pelvic armor played? And what was that about ‘carrying’?

“Well, “ Knock Out started to smirk, “when two ‘bots really love each others…” he started as he launched into a brief explanation of the sexued reproduction. Perceptor listened attentively, optics widening at times as the medic entered into more details when he asked for clarifications, which Knock Out was too happy to give.

There were some muttered ‘fascinating’ here and there, between two proclamations of disbelief, but on the whole, it seemed the Autobot was taking things rather well, to Knock Out’s satisfaction. Then again, the medic had to wonder if the Youngling really understood all the implications of what what being said to him. It was doubtful, Knock Out mused, but there were still time to let it sink.

Though perhaps he ought to have waited until he had the happy Sire-to-be here as well. He wondered if the look on his face would have been as… hilarious as the one on the microscope’s own.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perceptor and Wheeljack experiment a change of scenery; welcome you your new 'home', Younglings.

“ _‘Miss Rose’s Institution for Younglings’_?” Wheeljack mumbled aloud, looking at the shining copper plaque and it’s golden carved letter with squinted optics. He glanced again at the large four-story house behind the tall metal and stone walls, feeling apprehensive. “Didn’t that place belong to Senator Momus?” he asked, risking a glance to Perceptor and to the tall Decepticon’s whose hand rested on the shrunken scientist.

Perceptor pushed back his new, round and better fitting visor-glasses with a look of boredom. “It did. I remember going to a few recepticons here a few hundred stellar cycles ago. I found the whole affair quite… dull,” he finished after a moment of musing.

Wheeljack’s vocal indicators flashed in surprise and amusement both. Dull, a party at Senator Momus’ place? When the mech went out of his way to not invite just rich snobbish nobles, but actually normal, everyday mechs and femmes, for whom he provided high-grade and top-quality treats, not to mention the entertainment such as a public Rosanna concert? Trust Percy for not finding the whole thing amazing or fun. Had Wheeljack managed to get invited even once, he’d never had used ‘dull’ as a qualificatif!

The Decepticon seemed amused too by the bland answer, if the engineer had to judge by the quirk of his lips. “Senator Momus was most generous into handing several of his possessions to the new Cybertronian government, up and including half a dozen of properties he had acquired over the vorns. This one,” he said as he nodded toward the house and it’s surrounding garden, “has been turned over to Miss Rose as to change it into a home for… Younglings in a delicate situation”, he added, glancing down at Perceptor in a way that Wheeljack found quite telling.

The engineer winced as he looked at the unperturbed scientist and at the… the deformed shape of his belly. The plating at started to visibly bulge outward a decacycle ago. Logically, they had known it had been knowing, ever since Knock Out had made them sit together in Trypticon’s medbay and handed them datapads on Sparklings and their gestation, but to actually seen it… well, Wheeljack might have yelped and scrambled back while Perceptor just patted the light bulge with a look of polite astounding.

Honestly, Wheeljack wasn’t proud of his reaction.

His only excuse was that the whole ‘Perceptor is growing a miniature, sentient mech in his belly’ had been hard to swallow, even with medical proof under his optics.

Wheeljack was a scientist. Granted, he was an engineer and not a medic or a xenobiologist; his area of expertise was mechanical devices of the non-sentient kind, even if he sometimes helped review and design new frame-types with different committees. He could build weapons and armors with just a few rusty tools and enough base material, and he was proud of it. He knew he didn’t know everything, of course -- nobody did -- but he had thought himself well-versed in sciences anyway.

And then, out of nowhere, the whole ‘spike and valve’ and ‘Sparklings’ things came, reducing his certainties to crumbling dust.

That had been… more than unsettling. It had been worrisome. Just how the Pit had he, one of Cybertron’s lead scientists, managed to stay ignorant of such a feature present in everybot’s body until now? Especially given the number of times he had ended up blowing a body part and needing surgery?

There was a conspiracy here, one which depth left him shaking. The shaking, though, paled in comparison of the one he had experienced upon learning Perceptor’s state… and how he himself had contributed to it. And even worse, what could happen to their… Creation.

*-*-*-*-*

_“You, Youngling, are in a Pit of trouble.”_

_Sitting on the medical berth in Trypticon’s medbay, his cuffed hands in his laps, Wheeljack could only gulp and stare at the lithe red mech staring at him with narrowed optics._

_“Uh… sorry?” he offered weakly._

_The Decepticon medic, Knock Out if he remembered right, snorted. “Sorry, he says. Well, you can be! Do you have any idea…? Oh, wait, no you don’t,” he groaned. He poked at Wheeljack’s chest with a single, clawed digit. “Now, Youngling, you’re going to listen to me, and you’re going to listen me good, because I’ll be very, very disappointed if I have to repeat myself!”_

_“You, Youngling, have Sparked Up your partner. Sparked Up means you managed to impregnate him with little self-reproducing nanites, which will build a miniature frame inside a special chamber in Perceptor. Yep, your dear friend is self-building internally a little sentient mechling -- I stress the sentient part. Your little one’s Spark mainly comes from excess energy, so you can bet he’s going to look a lot like his Carrier when everything's said and done, but let’s not venture so far yet.”_

_“How did you Spark him Up? By thrusting that ‘plug’ of yours -- the correct term is ‘spike’, by the way, just so you know -- one time too many! See, those fluids you release when you overload, which get ejected out of your spike? It’s called ‘transfluid’. There are small nanobots in transfluid, which once they encounter a right set of circumstances inside an ‘host’ body and in combination with the ‘host’ own nanites, start to self-reproducing until they create a frame. It’s not completely unlike Paradron’s budding system, if you need a point of reference and a comparison. Anyway, transfluid helps make Sparklings -- babies, most species call them. Interfacing -- or sticking your spike into someone’s valve, makes Sparklings.”_

_“Which, Youngling, leads us to a big problem. Normally, it’s grown mechs who have Sparklings -- not mechlings like yourself and dear old Perceptor. Of course, there has always been Younglings getting Sparked up -- some mechs just become curious young, and some are sadly ready to Carry far sooner than others. We got it covered already. The problem is… well, it’s not everyday a prisoner start to Carry. And a prisoner who’s still a minor -- someone depending from adult jurisdiction -- well, let’s just say it’s uncommon.”_

_“You, Younglings, are about to give the legislators a headache -- especially given your status as both Autobots and as fundamental instruments of our first defeat all those stellar cycles ago. I know for a fact that quite a few mechs just want to lock you up and throw away the key -- and frankly, I don’t blame them!”_

_Wheeljack squirmed uneasily at the rant. “Sorry?” he offered again._

_“‘Sorry’ isn’t going to change the situation,” Knock Out grunted before rubbing his forehead as if to fight a headache. His shoulders finally sagged as he looked at Wheeljack with an unamused look. “Did you understand what I said? About the sentient being growing in Perceptor’s body?”_

_“I… got that part?” The engineer wasn’t really sure it wasn’t an elaborate joke played on him, but on the other end, it would explain a few things about the functions of the new parts he and Perceptor had uncovered on themselves. The idea they could reproduce in a manner similar to organic still sounded ludicrous, though._

_“But you don’t believe it,” Knock out stated with a sigh. Wheeljack just looked at him helplessly. “Of course you don’t. Well, never mind. You’ll have more than enough time to understand and accept the fact you’re going to be a Sire -- it’s the term applied to a Creator who didn’t Carry the offspring, by the way; the other, like Perceptor, is called the Carrier.” His red optics narrowed as he looked at the engineer up and down. “As I said, the legislators are going to have a field day trying to work out a solution concerning your ‘affair’. The simplest would be to make Perceptor abort the newspark and be done with it. Given Perceptor is still in the early stages, it can be done quickly and without harming him. You’d both be reintegrated in your cells, and measures would be taken to ensure accidental Sparking doesn’t happen again.”_

_Wheeljack fidgeted. He didn’t know what ‘abort’ meant, but it didn’t sound good at all, and especially not for Perceptor._

_Knock Out grunted, getting a datapad out of subspace and turning it up. “However, preliminary exams show that your ‘mechfriend’ is in good health, the Carrying cycle is seemingly going on without a hitch so far, and tests show he’d be able to actually birth the Sparkling without ill-effects. Considering the high stand some legislators have on newsparks’ preservations, it’s more than likely they’ll allow Perceptor to continued his Carrying Cycle. But of course, it opens a new can of cyberworms, as a prison medbay is hardly a place to have a Sparkling -- and a cell not a good place to raise one, assuming of course the newspark won’t be snatched away the moment its born,” he commented with a seriousness that made the engineer feel uneasy._

_“... Why do you say all that to me? Shouldn’t you be speaking with Perceptor instead?”_

_“I already advised Perceptor of the situation,” the medic waved, “and he doesn’t understand much better than you. Though he seems to find the idea of hosting a ‘developing frame’ somewhere between ‘fascinating’ and ‘utterly disturbing’, he has no real grasp on the seriousness of his situation -- and I fear you don’t either. Still, as the Sire of the newspark, you have a right to know how things will be going from now on -- especially as they will affect you as well.”_

_Wheeljack blinked. “Me? But why?”_

_“Assuming whoever in charge decides Perceptor can keep the newspark, you’ll be needed by your partner, if only for emotional support and… ‘fluids donations’,” the Decepticon drawled, and Wheeljack tilted his head, not understanding. “Never mind. The two of you are a couple. They won’t separate you just like that with a newspark in tow. Just remember that if Perceptor is transferred, you’ll be as well to keep him company and ensure you continue to provide him with what he needs until the Sparkling emerges. And once it’s done...” he trailed off._

_Wheeljack nibbled at his lips. “I… you said… you said something the ‘newspark’ being snatched away?” he asked worriedly. Now, he didn’t fully buy the fact Perceptor was holding a sentient thing in his body. That something was currently developing inside Perceptor, perhaps -- the sentience part, less so. However, whatever it was sentient or not, it wasn’t unlike the results of an experience, he reasoned. As such, any ‘results’ should be theirs, since they had created it in the first place. Except… well, they were prisoners, right? They couldn’t own anything that their jailers hadn’t given to them in the first place, like those toys they kept handing them to play with._

_Knock Out nodded solemnly. “You’re minors, and you’re Autobots, with not a single lick of sense or knowledge about the handling of a Sparkling. Under those circumstances, assuming Perceptor doesn’t have to abort, it’s not unlikely the higher ups will decide your both unfit for parenting and decide to take away the Sparkling.” A clawed hand reached for Wheeljack’s shoulder. “I don’t exactly wish it for you, kiddo. So I’m going to give you a piece of advice: whatever happens in the future, be on your best behavior, learn everything from the datapads I’m going to give you, and mainly… be there for your friend, will you?”_

_Wheeljack just nodded weakly, optics wide and uncertain._

*-*-*-*-*

“So is it to be our place of residence for the unforeseen future?”

Perceptor’s voice brought Wheeljack out of his remembrance and he glanced at the microscope with worried optics. Their Decepticon guard nodded.

“It is, Youngling. At least until the bitlet is born, anyway. Now, come on. Miss Rose will be waiting for our arrival,” he said, giving Perceptor a slight push to make him move along before gesturing for Wheeljack to follow as they passed the open gate of the park and advanced on the path of white stone.

Briefly, the engineer’s caressed the idea of trying to run -- they were out of Trypticon, they could try and make a run for it -- before his shoulders sagged. What was the point of doing so, really? There were Decepticons everywhere, he wouldn’t get far. The transport which had taken them from Trypticon was still there, with a guard leaning against the shuttle and watching them very closely. Plus… he had no credits, no weapons, his altmode was still locked down by clamps, and he had no access to his subspace to try and hoard anything. What meager possessions he had were all gathered in the small suitcase he was currently holding -- Perceptor’s own being carried around by the guard ‘escorting’ them. Given his relative small size next to a Decepticon -- especially now he had ‘shrunk’, he was far too noticeable.

Besides… Well, he couldn’t exactly leave Perceptor alone, could he?

So with a sigh and a huff as the suitcase’s weight made him waver briefly, Wheeljack followed. He didn’t know what that place was, but surely, it couldn’t be worse than Trypticon. Right?

*-*-*-*-*

‘Miss Rose’s Institution for Younglings’ turned out to be disconcerting for both Autobots -- although Wheeljack took it in stride, and Perceptor watched curiously and pointed out the transformation made to Senator Momus’ former home.

The Senator, Perceptor had explained in a low tone as they were guided in the manor, had remained tightly bound to his modest upbringing. A former miner and foreman, Momus had been lucky to discover several deposits of raw energon crystals during a foray on a then unclaimed asteroid. Reacting quickly, he had himself named the owner of the whole asteroid and started mining for the resources, hiring several fellow miners which started a mining colony. Momus soon became quite wealthy and started spending his money on charities and diverse committees before starting to get into politics, until he reached the rank of Senator. Despite this, he never stopped being a ‘common, working mech’ and remained very close to the laborers, never perfectly at ease in the luxury enjoyed by the ruling class.

As such, although he had acquired several properties across Cybertron and its Commonwealth, he had never decorated them outrageously. His houses remained mostly bare of furnitures, and could easily be transformed into anything, from a stage to a ballroom to… well, whatever ‘Miss Rose’s Institution for Younglings’ was.

Even if Perceptor hadn’t pointed out that such and such room didn’t exist before, Wheeljack would have noticed the possible changes himself.

For one, the walls and ceilings had been painted in various shades of pink that made Wheeljack’s optics twitch in the beginning -- he doubted very much the color came from the original owner. He had nothing against pink, but so much at once was almost too much to take in, especially coupled with the fluffy curtains -- also pink, though mercifully in such a pale shade it could have passed for white -- surrounding each windows and the various baubles and trinkets exposed everywhere.

Second, there was far more rooms than both mechs had expected -- whatever great halls and ballrooms had existed before had been transformed, reduced, divided in order to create medium-sized rooms and small salons. It reminded Wheeljack of some sort of cozy hotels, like the ones he had visited on Velocitron in the days he had traveled there for a race or two -- an amateurish competition he had finished third in, losing to a local racer and to Agent Blurr from the Intelligence Department. Except, hotels didn’t have middle sized or large rooms filled with desks and chairs in front of a blackboard, like the classrooms at the Iacon University.

They caught glimpse of various small-sized mechs -- Younglings, Wheeljack supposed -- as they passed by, but their guard didn’t let them linger, claiming they’d have plenty of time to ‘make friends’ during their stay. More unsettling, Wheeljack could swear he had caught size of a very tiny ‘bot at one point before being hurried along. And they had heard a wail unlike anything the engineer had ever encountered, high-pitched and… binary, he guessed. It was most curious.

Before they had had any time to ponder the matter and exchange advices, Perceptor and him had been ushered into a room their guard -- and also a thin femme who had overshadowed them since they had entered -- had presented as ‘their’.

Compared to their cells in Trypticon, it certainly was a big improvement -- even if, once again, the decor was far too pink for Wheeljack’s tastes. The room was spacious and well furnished -- a fluffy carpet, a couch and a low table, a desk which sadly wasn’t equipped with any computer or communication device, a rocking chair, a chest, some shelves, and two twin berths which had been glued to each other, thus forming a larger, single one. All in one, those were good accommodations, even if their seemed to be a very femme-like touch to the whole setting. They barely had time to put down the suitcases before they were half-dragged, half-pushed toward the ‘Headmistress’s office’ for a talk, the Headmistress being the infamous ‘Miss Rose’ who had given her name to the place.

Miss Rose, it turned out, was a behemoth of a femme that briefly reminded Wheeljack of the holovids he had seen of General Strika -- except General Strika was more terrifying looking. Miss Rose… well, she looked like a massive, well-armed tank who was trying to pass for harmless, but hadn’t quite managed to do so. She was, just like her institution, very pink -- from a glossy bright pink on her chest and hips and pelvic armor and almost reddish arms and legs armors to a pale lavender derma for the rest of her body. Wheeljack couldn’t tear away his optics from her neon purple lips as she read over small oval visor-glasses lenses -- though from time to time, he couldn’t help but glance at the massive pink canon towering over her helm. It was so… garish.

The way she looked at them, as if she wanted to fuss over both Perceptor and him, also annoyed him, though he refrained from speaking.

“Well,” the towering femme finally said as she put the datapad down and looked at the guard, “the files are in order and signed by all concerned parties. Our new boarders are officially welcome -- though I see their ultimate custody still rest with the Justice Board?”

The guard nodded, coughing. “Indeed, ma’am. Special circumstances, as you know. Just like for... ”

The femme pursed her lips. “So I do. I trust any extra security you feel like adding will not interfere with the lives of the boarders nor with their classes?”

“Of course, ma’am,” the ‘Con hurried to say. “Carry on as usual, we won’t bother you.”

“Good,” the femme rumbled, for a moment looking like the war machine she was despite the garish colors and the attempts at softening her voice. “If that’s all, then I trust you can help yourself out? I’d like to properly greet our new wards and introduce them to the rules of the Institution before we take both sweeties for an examination.”

Their guard saluted and left, and Wheeljack almost fidgeted as the large femme’s optics -- he hesitated to say they were red; they were more like a deep pink, which was just as unsettling as her paintjob -- focused on him, appraising, before looking at Perceptor and breaking into a wide smile.

“Finally alone and free from the paperwork! Now I can finally greet you two as you should! So, I was lead to believe this adorable young fellow is Perceptor, right?” she said brightly as she looked at the microscope, who nodded, looking nonplussed. Wheeljack must have looked the same -- ‘adorable young fellow’ weren’t words he would have used to describe Perceptor, ever. Even if Perceptor was rather handsome looking to Wheeljack’s optics. Miss Rose’s smile widened at the nod and she reached for a drawer of her desk, taking out a tray full of… pastries?

“Please dear, take a cubecake. You too, Wheeljack, right? Oh, take two, Perceptor; expecting young Carriers always need extra energy after all,” she said as she handed them the tray to select a treat.

Perceptor just frowned, hands resting in his laps even as Wheeljack carefully picked one of the cube-shaped pastries covered with a layer of silver frosting. “My energy levels are currently at 95.422%. I do not require any further sustenance at the moment, although I suppose I must thank you for your offer.”

The femme’s smile didn’t decrease, although Wheeljack could have swore he saw her optics dim briefly. “So serious,” she almost gushed. “Please, dear. I insist. Take a treat. Would any of you like something to drink with it?”

Both mechs politely declined, and after Perceptor reluctantly picked a cubecake for himself, the tray was put back in whatever drawer it had emerged from as Miss Rose put his hands on the desk, fingers intertwined.

“Now dears, what do you think of the Institution so far? I trust you have been able to see your room and perhaps meet with you little comrades? I’m so very sorry I couldn’t properly greet you at the door myself, but you know how paperwork goes, don’t you? Especially when Creators keep arguing if sending their Creation to continue their scholarity is worth it or not,” she sighed dramatically.

“Uh, actually, we didn’t meet anyone?” Wheeljack offered as he finished to nibble on his treat -- it was very tasty and refreshing at the same time. “And we didn’t meet anyone but a femme who lead us here.”

Perceptor pushed back his visor-glasses, looking very serious. “Nobody saw fit to inform us of our destination nor to the purpose of this place. Actually, nobody saw fit to even inform us of what decisions were taken concerning our eventual fates. We were taken from our cells in Trypticon last solar cycle and put into a transport with armed guard -- a process we found normal, although worrisome. From the looks, I do recognize Senator Momus’ former high season’s manor in southern Tarn, but I’m unsure as to why so much of the house was redesigned, nor can I discern why we have been brought here and not in another prison.”

Miss Rose blinked several times, her jaw dropping slightly as it opened and closed several times. She finally emitted a low growl that almost made Wheeljack jump back in surprise. “Bureaucrats! Of all the slagging, rust-ladded things…”

She suddenly stopped and coughed. “Oh, forgive my language, please. You don’t know anything then? Don’t you worry, especially you, Perceptor sweetspark; nothing bad is going to happen to you. You’re here in my institution for the foreseen future, as it was deemed an acceptable and secured place to heberge you both until your newspark emerges. Carriers don’t belong in a prison, and the idea of confining such a young, adorable Youngling in an hospital ward was just unfathomable! Here, you’ll have plenty of space and quiet while your Sparkling develop,” she cooed.

“Although I’m grateful we were moved from Trypticon, you have yet to tell us what this place is supposed to be, Miss.” Perceptor just noted dryly.

The massive femme chuckled. “How silly! You’re here in my institution for Younglings -- and by institution for Younglings, I mean a place for Carrying, underage mechlings such as yourselves, where we offer both board and an education.”

“We’re not Younglings.”

The femme just smiled. “Of course you’re not,” she said in a tone that made Wheeljack twitch. “You Autobots always said that. Though I admit most of you are surprisingly mature. Given the circumstances, I suppose this is to be expected, of course, but the point is, you’re certainly not adult in my optics -- or in the optics of the legislators. As it is, the fact you’re still youths is what is keeping you from being interned in some dreadful place, so whatever you may feel, I suggest you don’t claim too hard to be older than you appear. We wouldn’t want some idiot over the Justice Board to start ranting and move you around -- that wouldn’t be good for the Sparkling. How far along are you by the way, sweetspark? I’ve been told you were around four orbital cycles?”

“I can’t say I know,” Perceptor said blandly. “Matters involving the frame supposedly developing inside me…” He paused, musing. “Well, I’m guessing it was true, since my protoform started to swell without apparent causes, thus giving credence to the fact I’m ‘Carrying’ and that our kind can truly reproduce in a manner similar to most organic species. Anyway, I was never consulted in whatever decision was taken, nor told much on the process and how it related to me. Medic Knock Out handed me a few datapads, but I fear I don’t fully understand the datas as I’m lacking a proper background.”

“I… see. And you, Wheeljack dear?” the femme rumbled, blinking.

“Same thing, I guess?” the engineer offered.

“Oh dear. Oh dear,” the femme mumbled. She massaged her helm a moment. “I’m so signing you up for all the puericulture classes… and I’ll have to see if perhaps you can’t also have a tutor for additional lessons.”

“Tutor?” Wheeljack asked at the exact same moment Perceptor repeated “Classes?”

“Well, of course, dears. My institution is a school, after all, not a prison. You’re not here simply to pass time, but also to learn and get an education.”

“Ma’am, with all due respects, we’re scientists,” Wheeljack cut in before Perceptor could say anything. He had recognized the way his old friend was frowning, and he just knew a rant delivered in an expressionless voice was coming. “We have already earned our diplomas and have published numerous papers and articles, not to mention our contributions to the Sciences Ministry, which Perceptor here headed himself for thousands of stellar cycles. We don’t need an education, since we already have one!”

Miss Rose just raised an optic ridge. “May any of you Younglings tell me what’s the capital of Lucifer? Who was the first elected leader of Vehicon? Which ores were mined from Elba before the mines ran dry and it was changed into a prison planet? How many tons of trash is treated and recycled on Junk daily? Monthly? Of what is composed the cyberfauna in the Archa system? Well? I’m waiting. Do you know?”

“I’m… sure I read it before?” Wheeljack offered, mind racing. “The trash thing was treated by another civilian guild, it had nothing to do with the Sciences Ministry, but I saw a report once. Can’t remember the numbers,” he admitted, ashamed.

“I do believe the first Vehicon leader democratically elected was ST-3V3,” Perceptor finally said after a moment of reflexion. “The fact had nothing to do with science, but one lab assistant I had was onlined on Vehicon and prefered to use and follow their calendar. But I’m afraid I can’t offer a good answer to the other question, asides of the Archa seven being known for its giant spiders.”

“And this, Younglings, is the reason you need to go to class,” Miss Rose said firmly. “Although given the circumstances and in light of your former lives, I trust there won’t be any need to put you into sciences-related classes. Unless you’d be willing to tutor some of our struggling students? All good wills are accepted.”

“Tutors?” Wheeljack mumbled, unsure, before shaking his head. “Listen, Miss, I do understand we’re in a place for Younglings, but we…”

“But you both need to revise your datas,” the large femme said in a tone that suffered no argument before she softened. “Let’s forget the tutoring thing for now. As you’ll soon find out, many of our boarders are Younglings coming from low-incomes households. They didn’t have a chance to access a good education and some of them struggle to read and write. That’s why I’m always on the lookout for helping hands and bonding between my students. Anyway,” she said as she put a datapad out of subspace, “let’s talk about the classes you’ll be signed up for.”

“We didn’t agree to anything, ma’am,” Perceptor said, frowning.

“And classes are an obligatory part of your stay,” Miss Rose stated back. “Unless you’d like to be transferred back to Trypticon? Although I find the idea repulsive, it could happen should your prove too much to handle for the staff. The Justice Board gave me very strict instructions concerning your extended stay, after all.”

“Which are? If you’re allowed to share the data with us, ma’am?” Perceptor amended, sounding vaguely worried. Wheeljack put a hand over his as a reassurance -- something Miss Rose noticed, if the brief flash of her optics was anything to go by.

“Nothing you should be overly worried about, dear. You’re just not allowed to leave the property, but I suppose you already guessed that? You must also be well-fed and cared for, and you’re not allowed access to any kind of tools or chemicals aside of the supplements normally given to Carriers. Which remind me, I’ll have to sign you off from metalcraft class,” she mumbled as she grabbed a stylus and crossed something off the datapad she was holding.

“Metalcraft?” Wheeljack blinked.

“We like to try and give our students a rounded education or encourage their natural talents as they discover them. The completion of a crib for the future Sparkling is one of the main point of the course and… Oh, but never mind that. Now, let’s see. No metalcraft, no chemistry, no mathematics and algebra, no biology,...” she mumbled as she crossed lines after lines. “Puericulture is an obligation for all students -- even the Sires when they come along the Carriers, so you too will have to attend, Wheeljack dear. We’re going to keep history and literature, geography, arts and sewing classes, sports -- some exercises will do you a lot of good, dears, especially you Perceptor -- music and cooking. Together, they form the students’ basic schedule, and you can choose additional options from a list I’ll present you both later. Is it alright with you both?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Wheeljack shrugged. Music? Cooking? Sewing? He had never done that before! Well… he had tried to make himself some energon treats once, and it had blown up in his face. Granted, he shouldn’t have tried to use some of his lab equipments to make them, but he had never tried stirring energon ever again since then. Next to him, Perceptor looked unconvinced.

“What you propose us seem inane and a waste of our time.”

“I’m sorry you take it like that, dear,” Miss Rose sighed. “But your stay is at this price. Cheer up; I’m sure you’ll find something you like to do and that you’ll make friends along the way. Now, how about we take you both to see our nurse before the bell rings for dinner? Oh, that’s right, I haven’t explained you the organisation of the school!” she facepalmed briefly as she rose from her seat -- and Wheeljack gulped as he realized just how tall she truly was. “Well, no worry, I’ll tell you more about our rules on the way. Shall we go?” she asked.

Not fools, both Autobots rose and followed her. Wheeljack looked at Perceptor helplessly; finally, he wondered if perhaps Trypticon wouldn’t have been better for them both.


End file.
